Mv  Uncle 

Benja 


n 


CkAUDE   TlLLIER 


THE  LIBRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CALIFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
EDWIN  CORLE 

PRESENTED  BY 
JEAN  CORLE 


Benjamin 


Claude  Tidier- 


Miik 
BOSTON 


MY  UNCLE 


A  HUMOROUS,  SATIRICAL,  AND  PHILOSOPHICAL 
NOVEL 


BY 

CLAUDE  TILLIER 

Translated  from  the  French  by 
BENJ.  R.  TUCKER 


With  a  Sketch  of  the  Author's  Life  and  Works  by 
LUDWIG  PFAU 


BOSTON,  MASS. 
BENJ.  R.  TUCKER,  PUBLISHER 

1890 


COPYRIGHT, 

BY  BENJ.   B.  TUOKBB, 

1890. 


College 
Library 

TQ 


CONTENTS. 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE 


CHAPTER  I. 
Who  my  uncle  was 7 

CHAPTER  n. 
Why  my  uncle  decided  to  marry 20 

CHAPTER  III. 
How  my  uncle  meets  an  old  sergeant  and  a  poodle  dog, 

which  prevents  him  from  going  to  M.  Minxit's  ....      29 

CHAPTER  I\r. 
How  my  uncle  passed  himself  off  for  the  Wandering  Jew  .     .      69 

CHAPTER   V. 
My  uncle  works  a  miracle 76 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Monsieur  Minxit 81 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Table  talk  at  M.  Minxit's 92 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
How  my  uncle  kissed  a  marquis 107 

CHAPTER  IX. 
M.  Minxit  prepares  for  war 119 

CHAPTER  X. 
How  my  uncle  made  the  marquis  kiss  him 127 


1164374 


4:  CONTENTS. 

Page 
CHAPTER  XI. 

How  my  uncle  helped  his  tailor  to  seize  him 138 

CHAPTER  XII. 
How  my  uncle  hung  M.  Susurrans  to  a  hook  in  his  kitchen    .     153 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
How  my  uncle  spent  the  night  in  prayer  for  his  sister's  safe 

delivery 172 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
My  uncle's  speech  before  the  bailiff 182 

CHAPTER  XV. 
How  my  uncle  was  arrested  by  Parlanta  in  the  performance 

of  his  functions  as  godfather,  and  put  in  prison  ....     194 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
A  breakfast  in  prison. —  How  my  uncle  got  out  of  prison  .     .     199 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
A  trip  to  Corvol 212 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
What  my  uncle  said  to  himself  regarding  dueling     ....    223 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
How  my  uncle  thrice  disarmed  M.  de  Pont-Casse     ....    243 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Abduction  and  death  of  Mile.  Minxit 253 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  final  festival  261 


APPENDIX. 
Claude  Tillier  .  ......         276 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


I  RESURRECT  a  buried  treasure ;  a  novel  unlike  any 
other,  by  an  author  unlike  any  other ;  a  novel,  as 
Charles  Monselet  says,  that  "  has  no  equivalent  in  the 
literature  of  this  century "  ;  a  novel  which,  despite  the 
pessimism  with  which  it  opens  and  the  pathos  with 
which  it  closes, —  yes,  even  in  these, — must  take  rank 
among  the  wittiest  and  most  humorous  ever  written; 
a  novel  of  philosophy,  of  progress,  of  reality,  of  human- 
ity; a  novel  of  the  heart  and  of  the  head;  a  novel 
that  is  less  a  work  of  art  than  a  work  of  genius, —  the 
work  of  an  obscure  genius,  a  child  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution, who  lived  and  died  early  in  the  nineteenth 
century  and  will  be  famous  early  in  the  twentieth. 

BENJ.  R.  TUCKER. 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WHO    MY    UNCLE    WAS. 

I  REALLY  do  not  know  why  man  so  clings  to  life. 
What  does  he  find  that  is  so  agreeable  in  this  insipid 
succession  of  nights  and  days,  of  winter  and  spring? 
Always  the  same  sky,  the  same  sun ;  always  the  same 
green  pastures  and  the  same  yellow  fields ;  always  the 
same  speeches  of  the  crown,  the  same  knaves  and  the 
same  dupes.  If  this  is  the  best  that  God  could  do,  he 
is  a  sorry  workman,  and  the  scene-shifter  at  the  Grand 
Opera  is  cleverer  than  he. 

More  personalities,  you  say ;  there  you  are  now,  in- 
dulging in  personalities  against  God.  What  do  you 
expect  ?  To  be  sure,  God  is  a  functionary  and  a  high 
functionary  too,  although  his  functions  are  not  a  sine- 
cure. But  I  am  not  afraid  that  he  will  sue  me  in  the 
courts  for  damages,  wherewith  to  build  a  church,  as  a 
compensation  for  the  injury  that  I  may  have  done  to  his 
honor. 

I  know  very  well  that  the  court  officials  are  more 
sensitive  in  regard  to  his  reputation  than  he  is  himself ; 
but  it  is  precisely  that  of  which  I  complain.  By  virtue 
of  what  title  do  these  men  in  black  arrogate  to  them- 
selves the  right  to  avenge  injuries  which  are  wholly 
personal  to  him?  Have  they  a  power  of  attorney 
signed  by  Jehovah  that  authorizes  them  ? 


8  MY    UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

Do  you  believe  that  he  is  highly  pleased  when  the 
police  magistrates  take  in  hand  his  thunderbolts  and 
launch  them  brutally  upon  the  unfortunate  for  an 
offence  of  a  few  syllables  ?  Besides,  what  proof  have 
these  gentlemen  that  God  has  been  offended?  He  is 
there  in  the  court-room,  fastened  to  his  cross,  while 
they  sit  in  their  arm-chairs :  let  them  question  him ;  if 
he  answers  in  the  affirmative,  I  will  admit  my  error. 
Do  you  know  why  he  tumbled  from  the  throne  the 
Capet  dynasty,  that  old  and  august  salad  of  kings  so 
saturated  with  holy  oil?  I  know,  and  I  am  going  to 
tell  you.  It  is  because  it  enacted  the  law  against 
sacrilege. 

But  this  is  not  to  the  point. 

What  is  it  to  live  ?  To  rise,  to  go  to  bed,  to  break- 
fast, to  dine,  and  begin  again  to-morrow.  When  one 
has  performed  this  task  for  forty  years,  it  finally  be- 
comes very  insipid. 

Men  resemble  the  spectators,  some  sitting  on  velvet, 
others  on  bare  boards,  but  the  greater  number  stand- 
ing, who  witness  the  same  drama  every  evening,  and 
yawn  every  one  of  them  till  they  nearly  split  their  jaws. 
All  agree  that  it  is  mortally  tiresome,  that  they  would 
be  much  better  off  in  their  beds,  and  yet  no  one  is  will- 
ing to  give  up  his  place. 

To  live,  is  that  worth  the  trouble  of  opening  one's 
eyes?  All  our  enterprises  have  but  a  beginning;  the 
house  that  we  build  is  for  our  heirs;  the  morning 
wrapper  that  we  wad  with  love  to  envelop  our  old  age, 
will  be  made  into  swaddling-clothes  for  our  grand- 
children. We  say  to  ourselves :  "  There,  the  day  is 
ended !  "  We  light  our  lamp,  we  stir  our  fire ;  we  get 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  9 

ready  to  pass  a  quiet  and  peaceful  evening  at  the 
corner  of  our  hearth ;  tic,  tac,  some  one  knocks  at  the 
door.  Who  is  there?  It  is  death;  we  must  start. 
When  we  have  all  the  appetites  of  youth,  when  our 
blood  is  full  of  iron  and  alcohol,  we  are  without  a  cent ; 
when  our  teeth  and  stomach  are  gone,  we  are  million- 
aires. We  have  scarcely  time  to  say  to  a  woman :  "  I 
love  you ! "  at  our  second  kiss,  she  is  old  and  decrepit. 
Empires  are  no  sooner  consolidated  than  they  begin  to 
crumble :  they  resemble  those  ant-hills  which  the  poor 
insects  build  with  such  great  efforts;  when  it  needs 
but  a  grain  to  finish  them,  an  ox  crushes  them  under 
his  broad  foot,  or  a  cart  under  its  wheel.  What  you 
call  the  vegetable  stratum  of  this  globe  consists  of 
thousands  and  thousands  of  shrouds  laid  one  upon 
another  by  successive  generations.  The  great  names 
that  resound  upon  the  lips  of  men,  names  of  capitals, 
monarchs,  generals,  are  the  clattering  debris  of  old  em- 
pires. You  do  not  take  a  step  that  you  do  not  raise 
about  you  the  dust  of  a  thousand  things  destroyed 
before  they  were  finished. 

I  am  forty  years  old,  I  have  already  passed  through 
four  professions :  I  have  been  a  monitor,  a  soldier,  a 
school-teacher,  and  now  I  am  a  journalist.  I  have  been 
on  land  and  on  sea,  under  tents  and  at  the  corner  of 
the  fireside,  behind  prison  bars  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
broad  expanses  of  the  world ;  I  have  obeyed  and  I  have 
commanded ;  I  have  had  moments  of  wealth  and  years 
of  poverty.  I  have  been  loved  and  I  have  been  hated ; 
I  have  been  applauded  and  I  have  been  ridiculed.  I 
have  been  a  son  and  a  father,  a  lover  and  a  husband ;  I 
have  passed  through  the  season  of  flowers  and  through 


10  MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

the  season  of  fruits,  as  the  poets  say ;  and  under  none 
of  these  circumstances  have  I  found  any  reason  to  con- 
gratulate myself  on  being  confined  in  the  skin  of  a 
man  rather  than  in  that  of  a  wolf  or  a  fox,  rather  than  in 
the  shell  of  an  oyster,  in  the  bark  of  a  tree,  or  in  the 
jacket  of  a  potato.  Perhaps  if  I  were  a  man  of  prop- 
erty, a  man  with  an  income  of  fifty  thousand  francs,  I 
should  think  differently. 

In  the  meantime,  my  opinion  is  that  man  is  a  machine 
made  expressly  for  sorrow;  he  has  only  five  senses  with 
which  to  receive  pleasure,  and  suffering  comes  to  him 
through  the  whole  surface  of  his  body :  in  whatever 
spot  he  is  pricked,  he  bleeds ;  in  whatever  spot  he  is 
burned,  he  blisters.  The  lungs,  the  liver,  the  bowels 
can  give  him  no  enjoyment:  nevertheless  the  lungs 
inflame  and  make  him  cough ;  the  liver  becomes  ob- 
structed and  throws  him  into  a  fever ;  the  bowels  gripe 
and  give  him  the  colic.  You  have  not  a  nerve,  a 
muscle,  a  sinew  under  your  skin  that  cannot  make  you 
howl  with  pain. 

Your  organization  unjoints  at  every  moment,  like  a 
bad  pendulum.  You  raise  your  eyes  to  heaven  to  in- 
voke it,  and  a  swallow's  dung  falls  into  them  and  dries 
them  up;  if  you  go  to  a  ball,  you  sprain  your  ankle  and 
have  to  be  carried  home  on  a  mattress ;  to-day  you  are 
a  great  writer,  a  great  philosopher,  a  great  poet:  a 
fibre  of  your  brain  breaks,  and  in  vain  will  they  bleed 
you  or  put  ice  on  your  head,  to-morrow  you  will  be 
only  a  poor  madman. 

Sorrow  hides  behind  all  your  pleasures;  you  are 
gluttonous  rats  which  it  attracts  with  a  bit  of  savory 
bacon.  You  are  in  the  shadow  of  your  garden,  and 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  11 

you  shout :  "  Oh !  what  a  beautiful  rose  !  "  and  the  rose 
pricks  you ;  "  Oh  !  what  a  beautiful  fruit !  "  there  is  a 
wasp  on  it,  and  the  fruit  bites  you. 

You  say :  God  has  made  us  to  serve  him  and  to  love 
him.  It  is  not  true.  He  has  made  you  to  suffer.  The 
man  who  does  not  suffer  is  an  ill-made  machine,  an  im- 
perfect creature,  a  moral  cripple,  one  of  nature's  abor- 
tions. Death  is  not  only  the  end  of  life,  it  is  its 
remedy.  One  is  nowhere  so  well  off  as  in  the  grave. 
If  you  believe  me,  you  will  order,  instead  of  a  new 
overcoat,  a  coffin.  It  is  the  only  garment  that  does  not 
pinch. 

What  I  have  just  said  to  you  you  may  take  for  a  philo- 
sophical idea  or  for  a  paradox,  it  certainly  is  all  one  to 
me.  But  I  pray  you  at  least  to  accept  it  as  a  preface,  for 
I  cannot  make  you  a  better  one,  or  one  more  suitable  to 
the  sad  and  lamentable  story  which  I  am  going  to  have 
the  honor  of  relating  to  you. 

You  will  permit  me  to  trace  my  story  back  to  the 
second  generation,  like  that  of  a  prince,  or  of  a  hero, 
when  his  funeral  oration  is  delivered.  Perhaps  you 
will  not  lose  thereby.  The  customs  of  that  time  were 
well  worth  those  of  ours :  the  people  carried  swords, 
but  they  danced  with  them,  and  made  them  rattle 
like  castanets. 

For,  note  this,  gayety  always  keeps  company  with 
servitude.  It  is  a  blessing  that  God,  the  great  maker 
of  compensations,  has  created  especially  for  those  who 
become  dependent  upon  a  master,  or  fall  under  the 
hard  and  heavy  hand  of  poverty.  This  blessing  he 
has  given  them  to  console  them  for  their  miseries,  just 
as  he  has  made  certain  grasses  to  grow  between  the 


12  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

pavements  that  we  tread  under  our  feet,  certain  birds 
to  sing  on  the  old  towers,  and  the  beautiful  verdure  of 
the  ivy  to  smile  upon  grimacing  ruins. 

Gayety  flies,  like  the  swallow,  above  the  splendid 
roofs  of  the  great.  It  stops  in  the  school  yards,  at  the 
gates  of  barracks,  on  the  mouldy  flaggings  of  prisons. 
It  rests  like  a  beautiful  butterfly  on  the  pen  of  the 
school-boy  scrawling  in  his  copy-book.  It  hob-nobs 
at  the  canteen  with  the  old  grenadiers;  and  never 
does  it  sing  so  loud  —  provided  they  let  it  sing  —  as 
between  the  dark  walls  that  confine  the  unfortunate. 

For  the  rest,  the  gayety  of  the  poor  is  a  sort  of 
pride.  I  have  been  poor  among  the  poorest.  Well, 
I  found  pleasure  in  saying  to  fortune :  I  will  not  bend 
under  your  hand ;  I  will  eat  my  hard  crust  as  proudly 
as  the  dictator  Fabricius  ate  his  radishes;  I  will 
wear  my  poverty  as  kings  wear  their  diadem ;  strike  as 
hard  as  you  like,  and  strike  again :  I  will  answer  your 
scourgings  with  sarcasms ;  I  will  be  like  the  tree  that 
blooms  while  they  are  cutting  at  its  roots ;  like  the 
column  whose  metal  eagle  shines  in  the  sun  while  the 
pick  is  working  at  its  base. 

Dear  readers,  be  content  with  these  explanations,  I 
can  furnish  you  none  more  reasonable. 

What  a  difference  between  that  age  and  ours !  The 
man  of  the  constitutional  regime  is  not  a  merry-maker, 
quite  the  contrary. 

He  is  hypocritical,  avaricious,  and  profoundly  selfish ; 
whatever  question  strikes  against  his  brow,  his  brow 
rings  like  a  drawer  full  of  big  pennies. 

He  is  pretentious  and  swollen  with  vanity ;  the  grocer 
calls  the  confectioner,  his  neighbor,  his  honorable  friend, 


MY  TINGLE  BENJAMIN.  13 

and  the  confectioner  begs  the  grocer  to  accept  the  assur- 
ance of  the  distinguished  consideration  with  which  he 
has  the  honor  to  be,  etc.,  etc. 

The  man  of  the  constitutional  regime  has  a  mania 
for  wishing  to  distinguish  himself  from  the  people. 
The  father  wears  a  blue  cotton  blouse  and  the  son  an 
Elbeuf  cloak.  To  the  man  of  the  constitutional  regime 
no  sacrifice  is  too  costly  to  satisfy  his  mania  for  making 
a  show.  He  lives  on  bread  and  water,  he  dispenses 
with  fire  in  winter  and  beer  in  summer,  in  order  to 
wear  a  coat  made  of  fine  cloth,  a  cashmere  waistcoat, 
and  yellow  gloves.  When  others  regard  him  as  re- 
spectable, he  regards  himself  as  great. 

He  is  prim  and  stiff;  he  does  not  shout,  he  does  not 
laugh  aloud,  he  knows  not  where  to  spit,  he  never 
makes  one  gesture  more  violent  than  another.  He  says 
very  properly :  "  How  do  you  do,  Sir  " ;  "  how  do  you 
do,  Madam."  That  is  good  behavior ;  now,  what  is 
good  behavior?  A  lying  varnish  spread  upon  a  bit  of 
wood  to  make  it  pass  for  a  cane.  We  so  behave  before 
the  ladies.  Very  well ;  but,  before  God,  how  must  we 
behave  ? 

He  is  pedantic,  he  makes  up  for  the  wit  that  he  has 
not  by  the  purism  of  his  language,  as  a  good  housewife 
makes  up  for  the  furniture  which  she  lacks  by  order 
and  cleanliness. 

He  is  always  observant  of  the  proprieties.  If  he 
attends  a  banquet,  he  is  silent  and  preoccupied,  he 
swallows  a  cork  for  a  piece  of  bread,  and  uses  the  cream 
for  the  melted  butter.  He  waits  till  a  toast  is  proposed 
before  he  drinks.  He  always  has  a  newspaper  in  his 
pockets,  he  talks  only  of  commercial  treaties  and  rail- 


14  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

way  lines,  and  laughs  only  in  the  Chamber  of  Dep- 
uties. 

But,  at  the  period  to  which  I  take  you  back,  the  cus- 
toms of  the  little  towns  were  not  yet  glossed  with 
elegance ;  they  were  full  of  charming  negligence  and 
most  agreeable  simplicity.  The  characteristic  of  that 
happy  age  was  unconcern.  All  these  men,  ships  or 
walnut-shells,  abandoned  themselves  with  closed  eyes 
to  the  current  of  life,  without  troubling  themselves  as 
to  where  it  would  land  them. 

The  bourgeois  were  not  office-seekers ;  they  were  not 
miserly ;  they  lived  at  home  in  joyous  abundance,  and 
spent  their  incomes  to  the  last  louis.  The  merchants, 
few  in  number  then,  grew  rich  slowly,  without  devot- 
ing themselves  exclusively  to  business,  and  solely  by 
the  force  of  things ;  the  laborers  worked,  not  to  amass 
savings,  but  to  make  both  ends  meet.  They  had  not  at 
their  heels  that  terrible  competition  which  presses  us, 
and  cries  to  us  incessantly :  "  On  !  On  !  "  Conse- 
quently they  took  their  ease ;  they  had  supported  their 
fathers,  and,  when  they  were  old,  their  children  in  turn 
would  support  them. 

Such  was  the  abandonment  of  this  society  to  merry- 
making that  all  the  lawyers  and  even  the  judges  went 
to  the  wine-shop,  and  there  publicly  took  part  in  orgies. 
Far  from  fearing  lest  this  might  be  known,  they  would 
willingly  have  hung  their  wigs  upon  the  branches  of 
the  tavern  bush.  All  these  people,  great  and  small 
alike,  seemed  to  have  no  other  business  than  to  amuse 
themselves;  they  exercised  their  ingenuity  only  in 
playing  some  joke  or  in  concocting  some  good  story. 
Those  who  then  had  wit,  instead  of  expending  it  in 
intrigues,  expended  it  in  merriment. 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  15 

The  idlers,  and  there  were  many  of  them,  gathered 
in  the  public  square ;  to  them,  market-days  were  days 
of  fun.  The  peasants  who  came  to  bring  their  pro- 
visions to  the  town  were  their  martyrs ;  they  practised 
on  them  the  most  waggish  and  witty  cruelties ;  all  the 
neighbors  hurried  to  get  their  share  of  the  show.  The 
police  magistrates  of  to-day  would  prosecute  such 
things;  but  the  court  officials  of  that  time  enjoyed 
these  burlesque  scenes  as  well  as  anybody,  and  often 
took  part  in  them. 

My  grandfather  was  a  summons-server;  my  grand- 
mother was  a  little  woman  whom  they  reproached  with 
not  being  able  to  see,  when  she  went  to  church,  whether 
the  holy-water  basin  was  full.  She  has  remained  in  my 
memory  like  a  little  girl  of  sixty.  When  she  had  been 
married  six  years,  she  had  five  children,  some  boys  and 
some  girls ;  they  all  lived  upon  my  grandfather's  miser- 
able fees,  and  got  along  marvellously  well.  The  seven 
of  them  dined  off  three  herrings,  but  they  had  plenty 
of  bread  and  wine,  for  my  grandfather  had  a  vineyard 
which  was  an  inexhaustible  source  of  white  wine.  All 
these  children  were  utilized  by  my  grandmother,  ac- 
cording to  their  age  and  strength.  The  eldest,  who 
was  my  father,  was  named  Gaspard ;  he  washed  the 
dishes  and  went  to  the  butcher's  shop,  there  was  no 
poodle  in  the  town  better  tamed  than  he ;  the  second 
swept  the  room ;  the  third  held  the  fourth  in  his  arms, 
arid  the  fifth  rocked  in  its  cradle.  Meantime  my  grand- 
mother was  at  church  or  talking  with  her  neighbors. 
All  went  well,  however;  they  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  end  of  the  year  without  getting  Into  debt.  The 
boys  were  strong,  the  girls  were  not  ill,  and  the  father 
and  mother  were  happy. 


16  MY   UNCLE    BENJAMIN. 

My  uncle  Benjamin  lived  at  his  sister's ;  he  was  five 
feet  ten  inches  in  height,  carried  a  big  sword  at  his 
side,  and  wore  a  coat  of  scarlet  ratteen,  breeches  of  the 
same  color  and  material,  pearl-gray  silk  stockings,  and 
shoes  with  silver  buckles  ;  over  his  coat  bobbed  a  large 
black  cue  almost  as  long  as  his  sword,  which,  inces- 
santly going  and  coming,  had  covered  him  with  pow- 
der, so  that  my  uncle's  coat,  with  its  shades  of  red  and 
white,  looked  like  a  peeling  brick.  My  uncle  was  a 
doctor ;  that  was  why  he  had  a  sword.  I  do  not  know 
whether  tlie  sick  had  much  confidence  in  him ;  but  he, 
Benjamin,  had  very  little  confidence  in  medicine :  he 
often  said  that  a  doctor  did  very  well  if  he  did  not  kill 
'  his  patient.  Whenever  my  uncle  Benjamin  came  into 
possession  of  a  franc  or  two,  he  went  to  buy  a  big  fish 
and  gave  it  to  his  sister  to  make  a  matelote,  upon 
which  the  entire  family  feasted.  My  uncle  Benjamin, 
according  to  all  who  knew  him,  was  the  gayest,  droll- 
est, wittiest  man  in  all  the  country  round,  and  he  would 
have  been  the  most  —  how  shall  I  say  it  not  to  fail  in 
respect  to  my  great  uncle's  memory? — he  would  have 
been  the  least  sober,  if  the  town  drummer,  named 
Cicero,  had  not  shared  his  glory. 

Nevertheless  my  uncle  Benjamin  was  not  what  you 
lightly  term  a  drunkard,  make  no  mistake  about  that. 
He  was  an  epicurean  who  pushed  philosophy  to  the 
point  of  intoxication, —  that  was  all.  He  had  a  very 
elevated  and  distinguished  stomach.  He  loved  wine, 
not  for  itself,  but  for  that  short-lived  madness  which  it 
brings,  a  madness  which  engenders  in  the  man  of  wit 
an  unreasonableness  so  naive,  piquant,  and  original  that 
one  almost  prefers  it  to  reason.  If  he  could  have  in- 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  17 

toxicated  himself  by  reading  the  mass,  he  would  have 
read  the  mass  every  day.  My  uncle  Benjamin  had 
principles:  he  maintained  that  a  fasting  man  was  a 
man  still  asleep ;  that  intoxication  would  have  been 
one  of  the  greatest  blessings  of  the  Creator,  if  it  had 
not  injured  the  head,  and  that  the  only  thing  that 
made  man  superior  to  the  brute  was  the  faculty  of 
getting  drunk. 

Reason,  said  my  uncle,  amounts  to  nothing;  it  is 
simply  the  power  of  feeling  present  evils  and  remem- 
bering them.  The  privilege  of  abdicating  one's  reason 
is  the  only  thing  of  value.  You  say  that  the  man  who 
drowns  his  reason  in  wine  brutalizes  himself :  it  is  the 
pride  of  caste  that  makes  you  hold  to  that  opinion. 
Do  you  really  think,  then,  that  the  condition  of  the 
brute  is  worse  than  your  own?  When  you  are  tor- 
mented by  hunger,  you  would  like  very  much  to  be 
the  ox  that  feeds  in  grass  up  to  his  belly ;  when  you 
are  in  prison,  you  would  like  very  much  to  be  the  bird 
that  cleaves  the  azure  of  the  skies  with  a  free  wing ; 
when  you  are  on  the  point  of  being  turned  out  of  house 
and  home,  you  would  like  very  much  to  be  the  ugly 
snail  whose  shell  there  is  none  to  dispute. 

The  equality  of  which  you  dream,  the  brute  pos- 
sesses. In  the  forests  there  are  neither  kings,  nor 
nobles,  nor  a  third  estate.  The  problem  of  common 
life  studied  in  vain  by  your  philosophers  was  solved 
thousands  of  centuries  ago  by  the  poor  insects,  the  ants, 
and  the  bees.  The  animals  have  no  doctors ;  they  are 
neither  blind,  nor  hump-backed,  nor  lame,  nor  bow- 
legged,  and  they  have  no  fear  of  hell. 

My  uncle-  Benjamin  was  twenty-eight  years  old.     He 


18  MY  TTKCLB 

had  been  practising  medicine  for  three  years  ;  but  medi- 
cine had  not  made  him  a  man  of  income,  far  from  it : 
he  owed  his  tailor  for  three  scarlet  coats  and  his  barber 
for  three  years  of  hair-dressing,  and  in  each  of  the  most 
famous  taverns  of  the  town  he  had  a  pretty  little 
account  running,  with  nothing  on  the  credit  side  but 
a  few  drugs. 

My  grandmother  was  three  years  older  than  Benja- 
min; she  had  cradled  him  on  her  knees  and  carried 
him  in  her  arms,  and  she  looked  upon  herself  as  his 
mentor.  She  bought  his  cravats  and  pocket-handker- 
chiefs, mended  his  shirts,  and  gave  him  good  advice,  to 
which  he  listened  very  attentively, —  so  much  justice  at 
least  must  be  done  him, —  but  of  which  he  did  not  make 
the  slightest  use. 

Every  evening  regularly,  after  supper,  she  urged  him 
to  seek  a  wife. 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Benjamin ;  "  to  have  six  children  like 
Machecourt," — that  was  the  name  he  gave  my  grand- 
father,—  "  and  dine  off  the  fins  of  a  herring  ?  " 

"  But,  poor  fellow,  you  would  at  least  have  bread." 

"Yes,  bread  that  will  have  risen  too  much  to-day, 
not  enough  to-morrow,  and  the  day  after  will  have  the 
measles !  Bread !  what  does  that  amount  to  ?  It  is 
good  to  keep  one  from  dying,  but  it  is  not  good  to 
make  one  live.  I  shall  be  far  advanced  indeed  when 
I  shall  have  a  wife  to  tell  me  that  I  put  too  much  sugar 
in  my  vials  and  too  much  powder  on  my  cue,  to  come 
to  the  tavern  in  search  of  me,  to  rummage  in  my 
pockets  when  I  am  asleep,  and  to  buy  three  cloaks  for 
herself  to  one  coat  for  me." 

"But  your  creditors,  Benjamin,  how  do  you  expect 
to  pay  them  ?  " 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  19 

"  In  the  first  place,  when  one  has  credit,  it  is  the 
same  as  if  he  were  rich,  and  when  your  creditors  are 
good-natured  and  patient,  it  is  the  same  as  if  you  had 
none.  Besides,  what  do  I  need  to  enable  me  to  square 
my  accounts?  Only  a  first-class  epidemic.  God  is 
good,  my  dear  sister,  and  will  not  abandon  in  his  em- 
barrassment hirn  whose  business  it  is  to  repair  his 
finest  work." 

"Yes,"  said  my  grandfather,  "and  render  it  so  un- 
serviceable that  it  has  to  be  buried  in  the  ground." 

"  Well,"  responded  my  uncle,  "  that  is  the  usefulness 
of  doctors;  but  for  them  there  would  be  too  many 
people  in  the  world.  Of  what  use  would  it  be  for  God 
to  take  the  trouble  to  send  us  diseases  if  men  could  be 
found  to  cure  them  ?  " 

"  In  that  case  you  are  a  dishonest  man ;  you  rob 
those  who  send  for  you." 

"No,  I  do  not  rob  them,  because  I  reassure  them,  I 
give  them  hope,  and  I  always  find  a  way  to  make  them 
laugh.  That  is  worth  a  good  deal." 

My  grandmother,  seeing  that  the  conversation  had 
changed  its  current,  decided  that  she  had  better  go  to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHY   MY    UNCLE    DECIDED    TO   MARRY. 

NEVERTHELESS  a  terrible  catastrophe,  which  I  shall 
have  the  honor  to  relate  to  you  directly,  shook  Benja- 
min's resolutions. 

One  day  my  cousin  Page,  a  lawyer  in  the  bailiwick 
of  Clamecy,  came  to  invite  him  together  with  Mache- 
court  to  celebrate  Saint  Yves.  The  dinner  was  to  take 
place  at  a  well-known  tea-garden  situated  within  two 
gun-shots  of  the  faubourg ;  the  guests,  moreover,  were 
a  select  party.  Benjamin  would  not  have  given  that 
evening  for  an  entire  week  of  his  ordinary  life.  So 
after  vespers  my  grandfather,  adorned  in  his  wedding 
coat,  and  my  uncle,  with  his  sword  at  his  side,  were  at 
the  rendezvous. 

Almost  all  the  guests  were  there.  Saint  Yves  was 
magnificently  represented  in  this  assembly.  In  the 
first  place  there  was  Page,  the  lawyer,  who  never 
pleaded  a  case  except  between  two  glasses  of  wine ;  the 
clerk  of  the  court,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  writing 
while  asleep;  the  government  attorney,  Rapin,  who, 
having  received  as  a  present  from  a  litigant  a  cask  of 
tart  wine,  had  him  cited  before  the  court  that  he  might 
get  a  better  one  from  him ;  Arthus,  the  notaiy,  who 
had  been  known  to  eat  a  whole  salmon  for  his  dessert; 
Millot-Rataut,  poet  and  tailor,  author  of  "  Grand 
Noel " ;  an  old  architect  that  had  not  been  sober  for 
twenty  years;  M.  Minxit,  a  doctor  of  the  neighbor- 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  21 

hood,  who  consulted  urines ;  two  or  three  notable  mer- 
chants,—  notable,  that  is,  for  their  gayety  and  appe- 
tite*; and  some  huntsmen,  who  had  provided  the  table 
with  an  abundance  of  game.  At  sight  of  Benjamin  all 
the  guests  uttered  a  shout  of  welcome,  and  declared  that 
it  was  time  to  sit  down  to  table.  During  the  two  first 
courses  all  went  well.  My  uncle  was  charming  with 
his  wit  and  his  sallies ;  but  at  dessert  heads  began  to 
grow  hot ;  all  commenced  shouting  at  once.  Soon  the 
conversation  was  nothing  but  a  confusion  of  epigrams, 
oaths,  and  sallies,  bursting  out  together  and  trying  to 
stifle  each  other,  the  whole  making  a  noise  like  that  of 
a  dozen  glasses  clashing  against  each  other  simulta- 
neously. 

"  Gentlemen,"  cried  Page,  the  lawyer,  "  I  must  en- 
tertain you  with  my  last  speech  in  court.  The  case 
was  this.  Two  asses  had  got  into  a  quarrel  in  a 
meadow.  The  owner  of  one,  good-for-nothing  scamp 
that  he  is,  runs  and  beats  the  other  ass.  But  this 
quadruped,  not  being  disposed  to  endure  it,  bites  our 
man  on  the  little  finger.  The  owner  of  the  ass  who 
inflicted  the  bite  is  cited  before  the  bailiff  as  responsible 
for  the  doings  of  his  beast.  I  was  counsel  for  the 
defendant.  'Before  coming  to  the  question  of  fact,' 
said  I  to  the  bailiff,  '  I  must  enlighten  you  as  to  the 
morals  of  the  ass 'that  I  defend  and  that  of  the  plaintiff. 
Our  ass  is  an  entirely  inoffensive  quadruped;  he  enjoys 
the  esteem  of  all  who  know  him,  and  the  town  con- 
stable holds  him  in  high  regard.  Now,  I  defy  the  man 
who  is  our  adversary  to  say  as  much  of  his.  Our 
ass  is  the  bearer  of  a  certificate  from  the  mayor  of  his 
commune, —  and  this  certificate  really  existed, —  which 


22  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

testifies  to  his  morality  and  good  conduct.  If  the 
plaintiff  can  produce  a  like  certificate,  we  consent  to 
pay  him  three  thousand  francs  damages.' " 

"  May  Saint  Yves  bless  you  !  "  said  my  uncle  ;  "  now 
the  poet,  Millot-Rataut,  must  sing  us  his  'Grand 
Noel': 

'  A  genoux,  chr^tiens,  k  genoux  I ' 

"  That  is  eminently  lyrical.  It  must  have  been  the 
Holy  Spirit  that  inspired  that  beautiful  line." 

"I  should  like  to  see  you  do  as  much,"  cried  the 
tailor,  who  was  very  irascible  under  the  influence  of 
Burgundy. 

"  I  am  not  so  stupid,"  answered  my  uncle. 

"  Silence ! "  interrupted  Page,  the  lawyer,  striking 
with  all  his  might  on  the  table ;  "  I  declare  to  the  court 
that  I  wish  to  finish  my  plea." 

"  Directly,"  said  my  uncle  ;  "  you  are  not  yet  drunk 
enough  to  plead." 

"And  I  tell  you  that  I  will  plead  now.  Who  are 
you,  old  five-foot-ten,  to  prevent  a  lawyer  from  talk- 
ing?" 

"  Have  a  care,  Page,"  exclaimed  Arthus,  the  notary, 
"you  are  only  a  man  of  the  pen,  and  you  are  dealing 
with  a  man  of  the  sword." 

"It  well  becomes  you,  a  man  of  the  fork,  and  a 
devourer  of  salmon,  to  talk  of  men  of  the  sword; 
before  you  could  frighten  anybody,  he  would  have  to 
be  cooked." 

"Benjamin  is  indeed  terrible,"  said  the  architect. 
"  He  is  like  the  lion ;  at  one  stroke  of  his  cue  he  can 
knock  a  man  down." 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  23 

"Gentlemen,"  said  my  grandfather,  rising,  "I  will 
answer  for  my  brother-in-law ;  he  has  never  shed  blood 
except  with  his  lancet." 

"  Do  you  really  dare  to  maintain  that,  Machecourt  ?  " 

"  And  you,.  Benjamin,  do  you  really  dare  to  maintain 
the  contrary?" 

"  Then  you  shall  give  me  satisfaction  on  the  instant 
for  this  insult ;  and,  as  we  have  here  but  one  sword, 
which  is  mine,  I  will  keep  the  scabbard,  and  you  shall 
take  the  blade." 

My  grandfather,  who  was  very  fond  of  his  brother-in- 
law,  accepted  the  proposition,  to  avoid  vexing  him.  As 
the  two  adversaries  rose,  Page,  the  lawyer,  said : 

"  One  moment,  gentlemen.  We  must  fix  the  condi- 
tions of  the  combat.  I  propose  that  each  of  the  two 
adversaries  shall  hold  on  to  the  arm  of  his  second,  in 
order  that  he  may  not  fall  before  it  is  time." 

"Adopted ! "  cried  all  the  guests. 

Benjamin  and  Machecourt  stood  promptly  face  to 
face. 

"  Are  you  there,  Benjamin  ?  " 

"  And  you,  Machecourt  ?  " 

With  the  first  stroke  of  his  sword  my  grandfather 
cut  Benjamin's  scabbard  in  two  as  if  it  had  been  an 
oyster  plant,  and  made  a  gash  upon  his  wrist  sufficient 
to  force  him  to  drink  with  his  left  hand  for  at  least  a 
week. 

"  The  clumsy  fellow !  "  cried  Benjamin ;  "  he  has  cut 
me." 

"  What ! "  answered  my  grandfather,  with  charming 
simplicity,  "  does  your  sword  really  cut  ?  " 

"  All  the  same,  1  still  want  my  revenge ;  and  the 


24  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

remaining  half  of  this  scabbard  is  enough  with  which 
to  make  you  beg  my  pardon." 

"  No,  Benjamin,"  rejoined  my  grandfather,  "  it  is 
your  turn  to  take  the  sword.  If  you  stick  me,  we  shall 
be  even,  and  we  will  play  no  more." 

The  guests,  sobered  by  this  accident,  wanted  to  re- 
turn to  town. 

"No,  gentlemen,"  cried  Benjamin,  with  his  stento- 
rian voice,  "let  each  one  return  to  his  seat;  I  have  a 
proposition  to  make  to  you.  Considering  that  it  was 
his  first  attempt,  Machecourt  has  behaved  most  brill- 
iantly ;  he  is  in  a  position  to  measure  himself  against 
the  most  murderous  of  baibers,  provided  the  latter  will 
yield  him  the  sword  and  keep  the  scabbard.  I  propose 
that  we  name  him  fencing-master ;  only  on  this  condi- 
tion will  I  consent  to  let  him  live ;  and,  if  you  indorse 
my  opinion,  I  will  even  force  myself  to  offer  him  my 
left  hand,  inasmuch  as  he  has  disabled  the  other." 

"Benjamin  is  right,"  cried  a  multitude  of  voices. 
"  Bravo,  Benjamin.  Machecourt  must  be  made  fencing- 
master." 

And  each  one  ran  to  his  seat,  and  Benjamin  ordered 
a  second  dessert. 

Meanwhile  the  news  of  this  accident  had  spread  to 
Clamecy.  In  passing  from  mouth  to  mouth,  it  had 
grown  marvellously,  and,  when  it  reached  my  grand- 
mother, it  had  taken  on  the  gigantic  proportions  of  a 
murder  committed  by  her  husband  upon  the  person  of 
her  brother. 

My  grandmother,  in  a  body  that  was  less  than  five 
feet  long,  had  a  character  that  was  full  of  firmness  and 
energy.  She  did  not  go  screaming  and  crying  to  her 


MY   tJNCLE   BENJAMIN.  25 

neighbors,  to  have  them  apply  salts  to  her  nose.  With 
that  presence  of  mind  which  sorrow  imparts  to  strong 
souls,  she  saw  at  once  what  she  must  do.  She  put  her 
children  to  bed,  took  all  the  money  there  was  in  the 
house,  and  the  few  jewels  that  she  possessed,  in  order 
to  supply  her  husband  with  means  to  leave  the  country, 
if  that  should  be  necessary;  made  up  a  bundle  of  linen 
for  bandages  and  of  lint  to  stanch  the  wounds  of  the 
injured  man  in  case  he  should  be  still  alive ;  took  a 
mattress  from  her  bed,  and  asked  a  neighbor  to  follow 
on  with  it;  and  then,  wrapping  herself  in  her  cloak,  she 
started  without  faltering  for  the  fatal  tea-garden.  On 
entering  the  faubourg,  she  met  her  husband,  whom 
they  were  bringing  back  in  triumph,  crowned  with 
corks.  Benjamin,  on  whose  left  arm  he  was  supported, 
was  crying  at  the  top  of  his  voice :  "  Know  all  men  by 
these  presents,  that  Monsieur  Machecourt,  verger  to 
his  Majesty,  has  just  been  appointed  fencing-master,  in 
reward  "... 

"  Dog  of  a  drunkard ! "  cried  my  grandmother,  on 
seeing  Benjamin;  and,  unable  to  resist  the  emotion 
that  had  been  stifling  her  for  an  hour,  she  fell  upon 
the  pavement.  They  had  to  carry  her  home  on  the 
mattress  which  she  had  intended  for  her  brother. 

As  for  the  latter,  he  remembered  his  wound  only 
the  next  morning  when  he  was  putting  on  his  coat ; 
but  his  sister  had  a  high  fever.  She  was  dangerously 
ill  for  a  week,  and  during  the  entire  time  Benjamin 
did  not  leave  her  bedside.  When  at  last  she  could 
listen  to  him,  he  promised  her  that  henceforth  he  would 
lead  a  more  regular  life,  and  said  that  he  was  seriously 
thinking  of  paying  his  debts  and  marrying. 


26  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

My  grandmother  soon  recovered.  She  charged  her 
husband  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  a  wife  for  Ben- 
jamin. 

Sometime  after  that,  one  evening  in  November,  my 
grandfather  came  home,  splashed  to  the  chin,  but 
radiant. 

"I  have  found  something  far  better  than  we  ex- 
pected," cried  the  excellent  man,  pressing  the  hand 
of  his  brother-in-law ;  "  now,  Benjamin,  you  are  rich ; 
you  can  eat  as  many  matelotes  as  you  like." 

"  But  what  have  you  found,  then  ? "  asked  my 
grandmother  and  Benjamin  at  the  same  time. 

"An  only  daughter,  a  rich  heiress,  the  daughter  of 
Mirixit,  with  whom  we  celebrated  Saint  Yves  a  month 
ago." 

"What,  that  village   doctor  who  consults  urines?" 

"Precisely;  he  accepts  you  unreservedly;  he  is 
charmed  with  your  wit ;  he  believes  that  you  are  well 
fitted,  by  your  manners  and  your  eloquence,  to  aid  him 
in  his  industry." 

"  The  devil ! "  said  Benjamin,  scratching  his  head, 
"  I  am  not  anxious  to  consult  urines." 

"  Oh,  you  big  booby  !  Once  you  are  father  Minxit's 
son-in-law,  you  can  dismiss  him  and  his  vials,  and  bring 
your  wife  to  Clamecy." 

"  Yes,  but  Mile.  Minxit  has  red  hair." 

"  She  is  only  blonde,  Benjamin  ;  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honor." 

"  She  is  so  freckled  that  one  would  say  a  handful  of 
bran  had  been  thrown  in  her  face." 

"I  saw  her  this  evening.  I  assure  you  that  she  is 
scarcely  freckled  at  all." 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  27 

"  Besides,  she  is  five  feet  three  inches  tall.  I  really 
should  be  afraid  of  spoiling  the  human  race.  We  should 
have  children  as  tall  as  bean-poles." 

"  Oh,  these  are  only  stupid  "jokes,"  said  my  grand- 
mother; "I  met  your  tailor  yesterday,  and  he  abso- 
lutely insists  on  being  paid ;  and  you  know  very  well 
that  your  barber  will  not  dress  your  hair  again." 

"So  you  wish  me,  my  dear  sister,  to  marry  Mile. 
Minxit?  But  you  do  not  know  what  that  means, 
Minxit.  And  you,  Machecourt,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  know ;  it  means  father  Minxit." 

"Have  you  read  Horace,  Machecourt?" 

"  No,  Benjamin." 

"  Well,  Horace  says :  Num  minxit  patrios  cineres. 
It  is  that  devil  of  a  preterit  at  which  I  rebel;  besides, 
my  dear  sister  is  ho  longer  sick.  M.  Minxit,  Mme. 
Minxit,  M.  Rathery  Benjamin  Minxit,  little  Jean  Rath- 
ery  Minxit,  little  Pierre  Rathery  Minxit,  little  Ad£le 
Rathery  Minxit.  Why,  in  our  family  there  will  be 
enough  to  turn  a  mill.  And  then,  to  be  frank  about 
it,  I  am  scarcely  anxious  to  marry.  You  know  there 
is  a  song  that  says: 

. .  .  '  qu'on  est  heureux 
Dans  les  liens  du  mariage  ! ' 

But  this  song  does  not  know  what  it  sings.  It  must 
have  been  written  by  a  bachelor. 

.  .  .  '  qu'on  est  heureux 
Dans  les  liens  du  mariage  !  * 

That  would  be  all  right,  Machecourt,  if  a  man  were  free 
to  choose  a  companion  for  himself ;  but  the  necessities 
of  social  life  always  force  us  to  marry  in  a  ridiculous 


28  MY  UKCLE  BENJAMIN. 

way  and  contrary  to  our  inclinations.  Man  marries  a 
dowry,  woman  a  profession.  Then,  after  all  the  fine 
Sundays  of  their  honeymoon,  they  return  to  the  solitude 
of  their  household,  only  to  see  that  they  do  not  suit 
each  other.  One  is  avaricious  and  the  other  prodigal, 
the  wife  is  coquettish  and  the  husband  jealous,  one 
likes  the  north  wind  and  the  other  the  south  wind; 
they  would  like  to  be  a  thousand  miles  apart,  but  they 
have  to  live  in  the  circle  of  iron  within  which  they  have 
confined  themselves,  and  remain  together  usque  ad  vitam 
ceternam" 

"Is  he  drunk?"  whispered  my  grandfather  to  his 
wife. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  answered  the  latter. 

"  Because  he  is  talking  sense." 

Nevertheless  they  made  my  uncle  listen  to  reason, 
and  it  was  agreed  that  on  the  next  day,  which  was  Sun- 
day, he  should  go  to  see  Mile.  Minxit. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

HOW  KT  UNCLE  MEETS  AN  OLD  SERGEANT  AND  A  POODLE 

DOG,  WHICH  PREVENTS   HIM  FROM  GOING   TO 

M.  MINXIT'S. 

THE  next  day,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  my 
uncle  was  dressed  in  clean  linen,  and  needed  in  order 
to  start  only  a  pair  of  shoes  which  were  to  be  brought 
him  by  Cicero,  the  famous  town-crier  of  whom  we  have 
already  spoken,  and  who  combined  the  profession  of 
shoemaker  with  that  of  drummer. 

Cicero  was  not  slow  in  arriving.  In  those  days  of 
frankness  it  was  the  custom,  when  a  workman  brought 
work  to  a  house,  not  to  let  him  go  away  without  first 
making  him  drink  several  glasses  of  wine.  It  was  a 
bad  habit,  I  admit ;  but  these  kindly  ways  tended  to 
offset  class  distinctions;  the  poor  man  was  grateful  to 
the  rich  man  for  his  concessions,  and  was  not  jealous  of 
him.  Consequently  during  the  Revolution  there  was 
seen  an  admirable  devotion  of  servants  to  their  masters, 
of  farmers  to  their  landlords,  of  laborers  to  their  em- 
ployers, which  certainly  could  not  be  found  in  the  pres- 
ent day  of  insolent  arrogauce  and  ridiculous  pride. 

Benjamin  asked  his  sister  to  go  and  draw  a  bottle  of 
white  wine,  that  he  might  drink  with  Cicero.  His  sister 
drew  one,  then  two,  then  three,  and  even  seven. 

"  My  dear  sister,  I  beg  of  you,  one  more  bottle." 

"  But  do  you  not  know,  you  wretch,  that  you  are  at 
the  eighth?" 


30  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  You  know  very  well,  dear  sister,  that  we  keep  no 
accounts  together." 

"  But  you  know  very  well  that  you  have  a  journey 
to  make." 

"  Just  this  last  bottle,  and  I  start." 

"  Yes,  you  are  in  a  fine  condition  to  start !  Suppose 
anyone  should  send  for  you  now  to  visit  a  patient  ?  " 

"  How  little  you  appreciate,  my  good  sister,  the  ef- 
fects of  wine  !  It  is  easy  to  see  that  you  drink  only 
the  limpid  waters  of  the  Beuvron.  Have  I  to  start? 
My  centre  of  gravity  is  always  in  the  same  place. 
Have  I  to  bleed  some  one.  ...  But,  by  the  way,  my 
sister,  I  must  bleed  you ;  Machecourt  advised  it  when 
he  went  out.  You  were  complaining  this  morning  of  a 
severe  headache  ;  a  bleeding  will  do  you  good." 

And  Benjamin  took  out  his  case  of  instruments,  and 
my  grandmother  armed  herself  with  the  tongs. 

"The  devil!  You  make  a  very  rebellious  patient. 
Well,  let  us  compromise :  I  will  not  bleed  you,  and  you 
shall  go  to  draw  us  an  eighth  bottle  of  wine." 

"  I  will  not  draw  you  a  single  glass." 

"  Then  I  will  draw  it  myself,"  said  Benjamin ;  and, 
taking  the  bottle,  he  started  for  the  cellar. 

My  grandmother,  seeing  no  better  way  of  stopping 
him,  seized  his  cue ;  but  Benjamin,  without  paying  any 
attention  to  this  incident,  went  to  the  cellar  with  a 
step  as  firm  as  if  there  had  been  only  a  bunch  of  onions 
hanging  to  his  cue,  and  came  back  with  his  bottle  full. 

"  Well,  my  dear  sister,  it  was  well  worth  while  for 
two  of  us  to  go  to  the  cellar  for  a  paltry  bottle  of  white 
wine  ;  but  I  must  warn  you  that,  if  you  persist  in  these 
bad  habits,  you  will  force  me  to  cut  off  my  cue." 


MY   TTNCLE   BENJAMIN.  31 

Nevertheless  Benjamin,  who  but  a  short  time  before 
had  looked  upon  the  journey  to  Corvol  as  a  disagree- 
able duty,  was  now  obstinately  bent  on  starting.  My 
grandmother,  to  make  it  impossible  for  him  to  do  so, 
had  locked  up  his  shoes  in  the  closet. 

"  I  tell  you  that  I  will  go." 

"  And  I  tell  you  that  you  shall  not  go." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  carry  you  clear  to  M.  Minxit's 
hanging  to  the  end  of  my  cue  ?  " 

Such  was  the  dialogue  in  progress  between  brother 
and  sister  when  my  grandfather  arrived.  He  put  an 
end  to  the  discussion  by  declaring  that  the  next  day 
he  must  go  to  La  Chapelle,  and  that  he  would  take 
Benjamin  with  him. 

My  grandfather  was  up  before  daylight.  When  lie 
had  scribbled  off  his  writ  and  written  at  the  foot: 
"  The  cost  of  which  is  six  francs  four  sous  and  six 
deniers,"  he  wiped  his  pen  on  the  sleeve  of  his  coat, 
carefully  put  away  his  glasses  in  their  case,  and  went 
to  wake  Benjamin.  The  latter  was  sleeping  like  the 
Prince  de  Cond£  (provided  the  Prince  was  not  pretend- 
ing sleep)  on  the  eve  of  a  battle. 

"  Hello,  there,  Benjamin,  get  up ;  it  is  broad  day- 
light." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  answered  Benjamin,  with  a 
grunt,  and  turning  over  toward  the  wall,  "  it  is  pitch 
dark." 

"Lift  up  your  head,  and  you  will  see  the  sunlight  on 
the  floor." 

"  I  tell  you  that  it  is  the  light  of  the  street  lamp." 

"  Oh,  then,  you  do  not  want  to  go  ?  " 

"No,  I  have  dreamed  all  night  of  hard  bread  and 


32  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

sour  wine,  and  if  we  start  some  misfortune  will  happen 
to  us." 

"  Well,  I  declare  to  you  that,  if  in  ten  minutes  you 
are  not  up,  I  will  send  your  dear  sister  to  you.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  you  are  up,  I  will  open  that  quarter- 
cask  of  old  wine  you  know  so  well." 

"You  are  sure  that  it  is  from  Pouilly,  are  you?" 
said  Benjamin,  sitting  up  in  bed;  "you  give  me  your 
word  of  honor?" 

"  Yes,  upon  my  word  as  a  summons-server." 

"  Then  go  open  your  quarter-cask ;  but  I  warn  you 
that,  if  we  meet  with  any  accident  on  our  way,  you  will 
have  to  answer  for  it  to  my  dear  sister." 

An  hour  later  my  uncle  and  my  grandfather  were 
on  their  way  to  Moulot.  At  some  distance  from  the 
town  they  met  two  little  peasants,  of  whom  one  was 
carrying  a  rabbit  under  his  arm  and  the  other  had  two 
hens  in  his  basket.  The  former  said  to  his  com- 
panion : 

"If  you  will  tell  M.  Cliquet  that  my  rabbit  is  a 
warren  rabbit,  and  that  you  saw  him  taken  in  the  trap, 
you  shall  be  my  comrade." 

"  Willingly,"  answered  the  latter,  "  but  on  condition 
that  you  will  tell  Mme.  Deby  that  my  hens  lay  twice 
a  day  and  that  their  eggs  are  as  big  as  ducks'  eggs." 

"  You  are  two  little  thieves,"  said  my  grandfather ; 
"  I  will  have  your  ears  pulled  one  of  these  days  by  the 
commissary  of  police." 

"  And  I,  my  friends,"  said  Benjamin,  "  I  beg  you  each 
to  accept  this  twelve-denier  piece." 

"  Well,  that's  generosity  well  placed,"  said  my  grand- 
father, shrugging  his  shoulders  ;  "  you  will  undoubtedly 


MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  33 

give  the  flat  of  your  sword  to  the  first  poor  honest  man 
that  you  meet,  since  you  prostitute  your  money  on 
these  two  scamps." 

"  Scamps  to  you,  Machecourt,  who  see  only  the  sur- 
face of  things ;  but  to  me  they  are  two  philosophers. 
They  have  just  invented  a  machine  which,  well  organ- 
ized, would  make  the  fortune  of  ten  honest  people." 

"And  what  machine  is  that,  pray,"  said  my  grand- 
father, with  an  air  of  incredulity,  "  which  has  just  been 
invented  by  these  two  philosophers,  whom  I  would 
thrash  soundly  if  we  had  the  time  to  stop  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  simple  machine,"  said  my  uncle ;  "  this  is 
how  it  works.  We  are  ten  friends  who,  instead  of 
meeting  for  breakfast,  meet  to  make  our  fortunes." 

"  That  is  something  worth  meeting  for,"  interrupted 
iny  grandfather. 

"All  ten  of  us  are  intelligent,  adroit,  and,  if  need 
be,  shrewd.  We  have  loud  voices  and  are  wonderful 
debaters.  We  handle  words  with  the  same  skill  with 
which  a  juggler  handles  his  balls.  As  for  morality,  we 
are  all  capable  in  our  professions,  and  well-meaning 
persons  may  say,  without  seriously  compromising  them- 
selves, that  we  are  superior  to  our  rivals.  We  form, 
with  the  most  honorable  intentions,  a  society  to  puff 
each  other,  to  inflate  our  little  merits  and  make  them 
froth  and  foam." 

"I  understand,"  said  my  grandfather:  "one  sells 
'  Rough  on  Rats '  and  has  only  a  big  drum,  the  other 
Swiss  tea  and  has  only  a  pair  of  cymbals.  You  unite 
your  means  of  making  a  noise,  and  "... 

"That's  it  exactly,"  interrupted  Benjamin.  "You 
see  that,  if  the  machine  works  properly,  each  of  the 


34  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

members  has  about  him  nine  instruments  that  make  a 
frightful  uproar. 

"There  are  nine  of  us  who  say:  Page,  the  lawyer, 
drinks  too  much;  but  I  believe  that  this  devil  of  a  man 
steeps  leaves  from  the  common-law  book  in  his  wine, 
and  that  he  has  bottled  up  logic.  All  the  cases  that  he 
wants  to  win,  he  wins ;  and  the  other  day  he  got  a  ver- 
dict of  heavy  damages  for  a  gentleman  who  had  beaten 
a  peasant. 

"  The  process-server,  Parlanta,  is  a  little  crafty ;  but 
he  is  the  Hannibal  of  process-servers.  His  arrests  for 
debt  are  inevitable ;  his  debtor  could  only  escape  him  if 
he  had  no  body  at  all.  He  would  lay  his  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  a  duke  and  peer. 

"  As  for  Benjamin  Rathery,  he  is  a  careless  fellow, 
who  mocks  at  everything  and  laughs  in  the  face  of 
fever,  a  man,  if  you  will,  of  the  plate  and  the  bottle ; 
but  it  is  precisely  for  that  reason  that  I  prefer  him  to 
his  rivals.  He  has  not  the  air  of  those  sinister  doctors 
whose  register  is  a  cemetery.  He  is  too  gay  and  di- 
gests too  well  to  have  many  death  certificates  to  answer 
for. 

"  Thus  each  of  the  members  finds  himself  multiplied 
by  nine." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  grandfather,  "  but  will  that  give  you 
nine  red  coats?  Nine  times  Benjamin  Rathery,  what 
does  that  make  ?  " 

"  That  makes  nine  hundred  times  Machecourt,"  re- 
plied Benjamin,  quickly.  "But  let  me  finish  my 
demonstration;  you  shall  joke  afterward. 

"  Here  are  nine  living  advertisements,  who  insinuate 
themselves  everywhere,  who  repeat  to  you  to-morrow 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  35 

under  another  form  what  they  have  told  you  to-day ; 
nine  placards  that  talk  and  take  passers-by  by  the  arm ; 
nine  signs  that  promenade  through  the  town,  that  dis- 
cuss, that  make  dilemmas  and  enthymemes,  and  mock  at 
you  if  you  are  not  of  their  opinion. 

"As  a  result,  the  reputation  of  Page,  Rapin,  and 
Rathery,  which  was  dragging  painfully  along  within 
the  precincts  of  their  little  town,  like  a  lawyer  in  a 
vicious  circle,  suddenly  takes  an  astonishing  flight. 
Yesterday  it  had  no  feet ;  to-day  it  has  wings.  It  ex- 
pands like  gas  when  the  bottle  in  which  it  was  confined 
has  been  opened.  It  spreads  throughout  the  province. 
Clients  come  to  these  people  from  all  parts  of  the  baili- 
wick ;  they  come  from  the  South  and  from  the  North, 
from  the  dawn  and  from  the  sunset,  as  in  the  Apoca- 
lypse the  elect  come  to  the  city  of  Jerusalem.  After 
five  or  six  years  Benjamin  Rathery  is  the  owner  of  a 
handsome  fortune,  which  he  expends,  with  great  noise 
of  glasses  and  bottles,  in  breakfasts  and  dinners ;  you, 
Machecourt,  are  no  longer  a  server  of  writs ;  I  buy  you 
the  office  of  bailiff.  Your  wife  is  covered  with  silks 
and  laces  like  a  holy  queen ;  your  eldest  son,  who  is 
already  a  choir-boy,  enters  the  ecclesiastical  seminary ; 
your  second  son,  who  is  sickly  and  as  yellow  as  a  canary 
bird,  studies  medicine ;  I  give  him  my  reputation  and 
my  old  clients,  and  I  keep  him  in  red  coats.  Of  your 
youngest  son,  we  make  a  lawyer.  Your  eldest  daughter 
marries  a  man  of  letters.  We  marry  the  youngest  to  a 
fat  bourgeois,  and  the  day  after  the  wedding  we  put  the 
machine  away  in  the  attic." 

"  Yes,  but  your  machine  has  one  little  defect  j  it  is 
not  for  the  use  of  honest  people." 


36  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  W'hy  so  ?  " 

"  Because." 

"  Because  what  ?  " 

"  Because  the  effect  is  immoral." 

"  Can  you  prove  me  that  by  now  and  by  then  ?  " 

"To  the  devil  with  your  nows  and  thens.  You  are 
an  educated  man,  and  you  reason  with  your  mind ;  but 
I,  who  am  a  poor  server  of  writs,  I  feel  with  my  con- 
science. I  maintain  that  any  man  who  acquires  his 
fortune  by  other  means  than  his  labor  and  his  talents 
is  not  a  legitimate  possessor." 

"  What  you  say  is  very  good,  Machecourt,"  cried  my 
uncle;  "you  are  perfectly  right.  Conscience  is  the 
best  of  all  logics,  and  charlatanism,  under  whatever 
form  it  may  disguise  itself,  is  always  a  swindle.  Well, 
we  will  break  our  machine  and  say  no  more  about  it." 

While  chattering  thus,  they  were  approaching  the 
village  of  Moulot ;  they  saw  in  front  of  a  vineyard  gate 
a  sort  of  soldier  half  buried  in  brambles,  the  brown  and 
red  tufts  of  which,  touched  by  the  frost,  fell  in  con- 
fusion like  a  disordered  head  of  hair.  This  man  had 
on  his  head  a  piece  of  a  cocked  hat  without  a  cockade ; 
his  dilapidated  face  had  a  stony  tint,  that  yellow  tint 
which  old  monuments  have  in  the  sunlight.  The  two 
halves  of  a  huge  white  moustache  encircled  his  mouth, 
like  two  parentheses.  He  was  dressed  in  an  old  uni- 
form. Across  one  of  the  sleeves  stretched  an  old  and 
worn  strip  of  gold  lace. 

The  other  sleeve,  deprived  of  its  ensign,  was  nothing 
but  a  rectangle  distinguished  from  the  rest  of  the  mate- 
rial by  a  newer  wool  and  a  deeper  shade.  His  bare 
legs,  swollen  by  the  cold,  were  red  as  beets.  He  was 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  87 

letting  a  few  drops  of  brandy  drip  from  a  gourd  on 
some  old  pieces  of  black  bread.  A  poodle  dog  of  the 
larger  type  was  .sitting  in  front  of  him,  and  following 
all  his  movements,  like  a  dumb  servant  listening  with 
his  eyes  to  the  orders  given  him  by  his  master. 

My  uncle  would  sooner  have  passed  by  a  tavern 
without  stopping  than  by  this  man.  Halting  on  the 
side  of  the  road,  he  said : 

"  Comrade,  that's  a  bad  breakfast  you  have  there." 

"  I  have  eaten  many  a  worse  one,  but  Fontenoy  and 
I  have  good  appetites." 

"  Who  is  Fontenoy  ?  " 

"  My  dog,  that  poodle  that  you  see  there." 

"  The  devil !  but  that  is  a  fine  name  for  a  dog.  But 
then,  glory  is  a  good  thing  for  kings  ;  why  shouldn't  it 
be  for  poodle  dogs  ?  " 

"  That's  his  fighting  name,"  continued  the  sergeant ; 
"  his  family  name  is  Azor." 

"  Well,  why  do  you  call  him  Fontenoy  ?  " 

"  Because  at  the  battle  of  Fontenoy  he  made  an  Eng- 
lish' captain  prisoner." 

"  Hey,  how  is  that?"  exclaimed  my  uncle,  greatly 
astonished. 

"In  a  very  simple  way,  by  hanging  to  one  of  the 
skirts  of  his  coat  until  I  could  lay  my  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  Fontenoy,  just  as  he  is,  has  been  made  a 
member  of  the  order  of  the  army,  and  has  had  the 
honor  to  be  presented  to  Louis  XV.,  who  condescended 
to  say  to  me:  'Sergeant  Durantou,  you  have  a  fine 
dog  there.'  " 

"  Well,  that  was  a  king  who  was  very  sociable  with 
quadrupeds:  I  am  astonished  that  he  did  not  issue  a 


38  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

patent  of  nobility  to  your  poodle.  How  does  it  happen 
that  you  have  abandoned  the  service  of  so  good  a 
king?" 

"  Because  they  have  done  me  a  wrong,"  said  the  ser- 
geant, his  eyes  glaring  and  his  nostrils  swelling  with 
anger ;  "  I  ha_ve  had  these  golden  rags  on  my  arms  for 
ten  years;  I  have  been  through  all  the  campaigns  of 
Maurice  de  Saxe,  and  I  have  more  scars  on  my  body 
than  would  be  required  for  two  periods  of  service. 
They  had  promised  me  the  epaulette ;  but  to  make  a 
weaver's  son  an  officer  would  have  been  a  scandal 
calculated  to  horrify  all  the  pigeon  wings  of  France  and 
of  Navarre.  They  promoted  over  my  body  a  sort  of 
little  knight  just  hatched  from  his  page's  shell.  He 
will  find  a  way  to  get  himself  killed,  of  course;  for 
they  are  brave,  there  is  no  denying  that.  But  he  does 
•not  know  how  to  say  :  '  Eyes,  .  .  .  right !  ' 

At  this  drill  command,  strongly  accented  by  the  ser- 
geant, the  poodle  turned  his  eyes  to  the  right  in  a  truly 
military  fashion. 

"Very  fine,  Fontenoy,"  said  his  master,  "you  forget 
that  we  have  retired  from  the  service."  And  he  con- 
tinued :  "  I  could  not  forgive  the  very  Christian  king 
for  that;  I  have  been  out  with  him  ever  since,  and 
I  asked  him  for  my  furlough,  which  he  graciously 
granted." 

"  You  have  done  well,  brave  man,"  cried  Benjamin, 
slapping  the  old  soldier  on  the  shoulder,  an  imprudent 
gesture  that  came  very  near  causing  the  poodle  to  de- 
vour him.  "  If  my  approval  is  of  any  value  to  you,  I 
give  it  to  you  without  reserve ;  the  nobles  have  never 
stood  in  the  way  of  my  advancement,  but  that  does  not 
prevent  me  from  hating  them  with  all  my  heart." 


MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  39 

"  In  that  case  it  is  a  purely  platonic  hatred,"  inter- 
rupted my  grandfather. 

"Say  rather  a  purely  philosophical  hatred,  Mache- 
court.  Nobility  is  the  most  absurd  of  all  things.  It  is 
a  flagrant  revolt  of  despotism  against  the  Creator.  Did 
God  make  the  grasses  of  the  prairie  higher  one  than 
the  other?  Did  he  engrave  escutcheons  upon  the 
wings  of  birds  and  the  skins  of  wild  beasts?  What 
signify  these  superior  men  which  a  king  makes  by  let- 
ters patent,  as  he  makes  an  exciseman  or  a  huckster  ? 
Dating  from  to-day,  you  will  recognize  Mr.  So-and-so 
as  a  superior  man.  Signed  Louis  XVI.,  and  lower 
down  Choiseul.  Oh,  that's  a  fine  way  to  establish  supe- 
riority. 

"A  villein  is  made  a  count  by  Henri  IV.,  because  he 
has  served  that  majesty  with  a  nice  goose ;  if  he  had 
served  a  capon  with  the  goose,  he  would  have  been 
made  a  marquis ;  it  would  have  taken  no  more  ink  or 
parchment.  Now  the  descendants  of  these  men  have 
the  privilege  of  beating  us,  whose  ancestors  never  had 
an  opportunity  of  offering  a  fowl's  wing  to  a  king. 

"And  see  on  what  a  little  thing  greatness  depends  in 
this  world  !  If  the  goose  had  been  cooked  a  little  more 
or  a  little  less,  if  they  had  put  on 'it  one  more  pinch  of 
salt  or  one  less  pinch  of  pepper,  if  a  little  soot  had 
fallen  into  the  dripping-pan  or  a  little  cinder  upon  the 
slices  of  bread,  or  if  the  bird  had  been  served  a  little 
sooner  or  a  little  later,  there  would  have  been  one  less 
noble  family  in  France.  And  the  people  bow  their 
heads  before  such  greatness !  Oh  I  I  could  wish,  as 
Caligula  wished  of  the  Roman  people,  that  France  had 
but  a  single  pair  of  cheeks  that  I  might  slap  its  face. 


40  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  But  tell  me,  imbecile  people,  what  value  do  you 
find  then  in  the  two  letters  that  these  people  place  be- 
fore their  names  ?  Do  they  add  an  inch  to  their  stat- 
ure? Have  they  more  iron  than  you  in  their  blood, 
more  cerebral  marrow  in  the  bony  box  of  their  heads  ? 
Could  they  handle  a  sword  heavier  than  yours?  Does 
this  marvellous  de  cure  scrofula?  Does  it  preserve  its 
possessor  from  the  colic  when  he  has  dined  too  heavily, 
or  from  intoxication  when  he  has  drunk  too  much? 
Do  you  not  see  that  all  these  counts,  these  barons,  these 
marquises,  are  capital  letters  which,  in  spite  of  the  place 
that  they  occupy  in  the  line,  are  never  of  more  impor- 
tance than  the  small  letters  ?  If  a  duke  and  peer  and 
a  woodcutter  were  together  on  an  American  prairie  or 
in  the  middle  of  the  great  desert  of  Sahara,  I  should 
like  to  know  which  of  the  two  would  be  the  nobler. 

"  Their  great-great-grandfather  .  wiel4ed  the  shield, 
and  your  father  made  cotton  caps ;  what  does  that 
prove  for  them  or  against  you?  Do  they  come  into 
the  world  with  their  ancestor's  shield  at  their  side? 
Have  they  his  scars  marked  on  their  skin  ?  What  is 
this  greatness  that  is  transmitted  from  father  to  son, 
like  a  new  candle  which  we  light  from  a  candle  that  is 
going  out?  Are  the  toadstools  which  arise  from  the 
ruins  of  a  dead  oak,  oaks  on  that  account  ? 

"  When  I  learn  that  the  king  has  created  a  noble 
family,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  see  a  farmer  planting  in  his 
field  a  big  booby  of  a  poppy,  which  will  infect  twenty 
furrows  with  its  seed  and  yield  every  year  only  four 
big  red  leaves.  Nevertheless,  as  long  as  there  shall  be 
kings,  there  will  be  nobles. 

"  The  kings  make  counts,  marquises,  dukes,  that  ad- 


MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  41 

miration  may  rise  to  them  by  degrees.  Nobles,  rela- 
tively to  them,  are  the  bagatelles  of  the  gate,  the  pa- 
rade that  gives  the  idlers  a  foretaste  of  the  magnificence 
of  the  spectacle.  A  king  without  nobility  would  be  a 
salon  without  an  ante-chamber;  but  this  dainty  pride 
will  cost  them  dear.  It  is  impossible  that  twenty  mill- 
ions of  men  should  consent  forever  to  be  nothing  in 
the  State  that  a  few  thousand  courtiers  may  be  some- 
thing ;  who  sows  privileges  will  reap  revolutions. 

"The  time  is  not  far  off  perhaps  when  all  these 
brilliant  escutcheons  will  be  dragged  in  the  gutter,  and 
when  those  who  now  adorn  themselves  with  them  will 
need  the  protection  of  their  valets" 

"  What ! "  you  say  to  me,  "  your  uncle  Benjamin 
said  all  that?" 

"Why  not?" 

"All  in  one  breath?" 

"  To  be  sure.  What  is  there  in  that  that  is  astonish- 
ing ?  My  grandfather  had  a  jug  that  held  a  pint  and 
a  half,  and  my  uncle  emptied  it  at  one  draught:  he 
called  that  making  tirades." 

"  And  his  words  ?     How  were  they  preserved  ?  " 

"  My  grandfather  wrote  them  down." 

"  Then  he  had  there,  in  the  open  air,  all  the  necessary 
writing  materials  ?  " 

"  How  stupid !     Wasn't  he  a  summons-server? " 

"  And  the  sergeant  ?  Did  he  have  anything  more  to 
say?" 

"Certainly;  it  was  very  necessary  that  he  should 
speak  in  order  that  my  uncle  might  reply." 

Now  then,  the  sergeant  said: 

"I  have  been  on  the  road  for  three  months;  I  go 


42  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

from  farm  to  farm,  and  I  stay  as  long  as  they  are  will- 
ing to  keep  me.  I  play  with  the  children,  I  tell  the 
story  of  our  campaigns  to  the  men,  and  Fontenoy 
amuses  the  women  with  his  frolics.  I  am  in  no  hurry, 
for  I  don't  exactly  know  where  I  am  going.  They  send 
me  back  to  my  fireside,  and  I  have  no  fireside.  My 
father's  stove  was  long  ago  staved  in,  and  my  arms  are 
hollower  and  rustier  than  two  old  gun-barrels.  Never- 
theless I  think  that  I  shall  return  to  my  village.  Not 
that  I  expect  to  be  better  off  there  than  anywhere  else. 
The  ground  is  as  hard  there  as  elsewhere,  and  they  do 
not  drink  brandy  in  the  roads.  But  what  difference 
does  it  make  ?  I  shall  go  there  just  the  same.  It  is  a 
sort  of  sick  man's  whim.  I  shall  be  the  garrison  of  the 
neighborhood.  If  they  do  not  wish  to  support  the  old 
soldier,  they  will  have  at  least  to  bury  him,  and,"  he 
added,  "  they  will  certainly  be  kind  enough  to  place 
upon  my  grave  a  little  soup  for  Fontenoy,  until  he  shall 
die  of  sorrow;  for  Fontenoy  will  not  let  me  go  away 
alone.  When  we  are  alone  and  he  looks  at  me,  he 
promises  me  that,  this  good  Fontenoy." 

"So  that  is  the  fate  that  they  have  made  for  you?" 
answered  Benjamin.  "Truly,  kings  are  the  most  self- 
ish of  all  beings.  If  the  serpents,  of  which  our  poets 
speak  so  ill,  had  a  literature,  they  would  make  kings 
the  symbol  of  ingratitude.  I  have  read  somewhere  that, 
when  God  had  made  the  heart  of  kings,  a  dog  ran  off 
with  it,  and  that,  not  wishing  to  begin  his  work  again, 
he  put  a  stone  in  its  place.  That  seems  to  me  very 
likely.  As  for  the  Capets,  perhaps  they  have  a  lily-root 
in  place  of  a  heart ;  I  defy  anyone  to  prove  the  con- 
trary. 


MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  43 

"Because  these  people  had  a  cross  made  on  their 
foreheads  with  oil,  their  persons  are  august,  they  are 
majesties,  they  are  WE  instead  of  I ;  they  can  do  no 
wrong;  if  their  valet  de  chambre  should  scratch  them  in 
putting  on  their  shirt,  it  would  be  a  sacrilege.  Their 
little  ones  are  highnesses,  these  brats,  which  a  woman 
carries  in  her  hand,  and  whose  cradle  could  be  held  in 
a  hen-coop ;  they  are  very  lofty  heights,  most  serene 
mountains.  We  would  willingly  gild  their  nurses'  nip- 
ples. If  such  is  the  effect  of  a  little  oil,  how  much  we 
ought  to  respect  the  anchovies  that  are  pickled  in  oil 
till  we  eat  them  ! 

"  In  the  caste  of  sires,  pride  goes  to  the  point  of  mad- 
ness. They  are  compared  to  Jupiter  holding  a  thunder- 
bolt, and  they  do  not  consider  themselves  too  highly 
honored  by  the  comparison.  Leave  out  the  thunder- 
bolt, and  they  would  be  offended.  Nevertheless,  Jupi- 
ter has  the  gout,  and  it  takes  two  valets  to  lead  him  to 
his  table  or  to  bed.  The  rhymester  Boileau  has,  by  his 
private  authority,  ordered  the  winds  to  be  silent,  inas- 
much as  he  was  about  to  speak  of  Louis  XIV. : 

'  Et  vous,  vents,  faites  silence, 
Je  vais  parler  de  Louis.' 

"And  Louis  XIV.  looked  on  this  as  very  natural ; 
only  it  has  never  occurred  to  him  to  order  the  com- 
manders of  his  vessels  to  speak  of  Louis  in  order  to  still 
the  tempests. 

"All  these  poor  madmen  believe  that  the  space  of 
earth  over  which  they  reign  is  theirs;  that  God  has 
given  it  to  them,  soil  and  sub-soil,  to  be  enjoyed,  with- 
out disturbance  or  hindrance,  by  them  and  their  de- 


44  MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

scendants.  Let  a  courtier  tell  them  that  God  made  the 
Seine  expressly  to  supply  the  great  basin  of  the  Tuil- 
eries,  and  they  will  look  on  him  as  a  man  of  wit.  They 
regard  these  millions  of  men  around  them  as  their  prop- 
erty, the  title  to  whom  cannot  be  disputed  on  the 
penalty  of  hanging;  some  have  come  into  the  world  to 
supply  them  with  money ;  others  to  die  in  their  quar- 
rels ;  some,  who  have  the  clearest  and  reddest  blood,  to 
beget  mistresses  for  them.  All  this  evidently  results 
from  the  cross  which  an  old  arch-bishop,  with  his  with- 
ered hand,  has  laid  upon  their  brows. 

"  They  take  a  man  in  the  strength  of  his  youth,  they 
put  a  gun  in  his  hands  and  a  knapsack  on  his  back, 
they  adorn  his  head  with  a  cockade,  and  they  say  to 
him  :  'My  brother  of  Prussia  has  wronged  me  ;  you  are 
to  attack  all  his  subjects.  I  have  warned  them  by  my 
process-server,  whom  I  call  a  herald,  that  on  the  first  of 
April  next  you  will  have  the  honor  to  present  yourself 
at  the  frontier  to  strangle  them,  and  that  they  should 
be  ready  to  give  you  a  warm  welcome.  Between  mon- 
archs  these  are  considerations  which  we  owe  each  other. 
You  will  think  perhaps  at  first  sight  that  our  enemies 
are  men ;  I  warn  you  to  the  contrary ;  they  are  Prus- 
sians ;  you  will  distinguish  them  from  the  human  race 
by  the  color  of  their  uniform.  Try  to  do  your  duty 
well,  for  I  shall  be  there  sitting  on  my  throne  to  watch 
3-011.  If  you  bring  victory  with  you  when  you  return 
to  France,  you  will  be  led  beneath  the  windows  of  my 
palace;  I  shall  appear  in  full  uniform,  and  say  to  you: 
"Soldiers,  I  am  content  with  you."  If  you  are  one 
hundred  thousand  men,  you  will  have  for  your  share  a 
hundred-thousandth  of  these  six  words.  In  case  you 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  45 

should  remain  on  the  battle-field,  which  may  very 
easily  happen,  I  will  send  your  death  certificate  to  your 
family,  that  they  may  weep  for  you  and  that  your 
brothers  may  inherit  your  property.  If  you  lose  an 
arm  or  a  leg,  I  will  pay  you  what  they  are  worth,  but  if 
you  have  the  good  or  ill  fortune,  whichever  you  may 
think  it,  to  escape  the  bullet,  when  you  have  no  longer 
strength  enough  to  carry  your  knapsack,  I  will  give  you 
your  furlough,  and  you  can  go  to  die  where  you  like ; 
that  will  no  longer  concern  me.'  " 

"  That's  just  the  way  it  is,"  said  the  sergeant ; 
"•  when  they  have  extracted  from  our  blood  the  phos- 
phorus of  which  they  make  their  glory,  they  throw  us 
aside  as  the  wine-grower  throws  on  the  muck-heap  the 
skin  of  the  grape  after  squeezing  out  the  liquor,  or  as 
a  child  throws  into  the  gutter  the  stone  of  the  fruit 
which  he  has  just  eaten." 

uThat  is  very  wrong  of  them,"  said  Machecourt, 
whose  mind  was  at  Corvol,  and  who  longed  to  see  his 
brother-in-law  there. 

"  Machecourt,"  said  Benjamin,  looking  at  him  as- 
kance, "  be  more  careful  of  your  expressions  ;  this  is  no 
laughing  matter.  Yes,  whep  I  see  these  proud  soldiers, 
who  have  made  the  glory  of  their  country  with  their 
blood,  obliged,  like  that  poor  old  Cicero,  to  spend  the 
rest  of  their  life  on  a  cobbler's  bench,  while  a  multitude 
of  gilded  puppets  monopolize  the  public  revenues,  and 
prostitutes  have  cashmeres  for  their  morning  wrappers, 
a  single  thread  of  which  is  worth  the  entire  wardrobe 
of  a  poor  house-wife,  I  am  exasperated  against  kings ; 
if  I  were  God,  I  would  put  a  leaden  uniform  on  their 
bodies,  and  condemn  them  to  a  thousand  years  of  mili- 


46  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

tary  service  in  the  moon,  with  all  their  iniquities  in 
their  knapsacks.  The  emperors  should  be  corporals." 

After  having  recovered  his  breath  and  wiped  his 
brow,  for  he  was  sweating,  my  worthy  great-uncle, 
with  emotion  and  wrath,  he  took  my  grandfather 
aside,  and  said  to  him  : 

"  Suppose  we  invite  this  brave  man  and  this  glorious 
poodle  to  breakfast  with  us  at  Manette's  ?  " 

"  Hum  !  hum  !  "  objected  my  grandfather. 

"  The  devil !  "  replied  Benjamin,  "  one  does  not  meet 
every  day  a  poodle  who  has  made  an  English  captain 
prisoner,  and  every  day  political  banquets  are  given  to 
people  who  are  not  worth  this  honorable  quadruped." 

"  But  have  you  any  money  ?  "  said  my  grandfather ; 
"  I  have  only  a  thirty-sou  piece,  which  your  sister  gave 
me  this  morning  because,  I  believe,  it  is  imperfectly 
coined,  and  she  urgently  recommended  me  to  bring  her 
back  at  least  half." 

"  For  my  part,  I  have  not  a  sou,  but  I  am  Manette's 
physician,  just  as  she  from  time  to  time  is  my  tavern- 
keeper,  and  we  give  each  other  credit." 

"  Manette's  physician  only?" 

"What's  that  to  you?" 

" Nothing;  but  I  warn  you  that  I  will  not  stay  more 
than  an  hour  at  Manette's." 

So  my  uncle  extended  his  invitation  to  the  sergeant. 
The  latter  accepted  without  ceremony,  and  joyfully 
placed  himself  between  my  uncle  and  my  grandfather, 
walking  in  what  soldiers  call  lock-step. 

They  met  a  bull,  which  a  peasant  was  driving  to 
pasture.  Offended  undoubtedly  by  Benjamin's  coat, 
he  suddenly  started  for  him.  My  uncle  dodged  his 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  47 

horns,  arid,  as  he  had  joints  of  steel,  he  cleared  at  a 
bound,  with  no  more  effort  than  if  he  had  cut  a  caper, 
a  broad  ditch  that  separated  the  road  from  the  fields. 
The  bull,  who  was  undoubtedly  determined  to  make  a 
slash  in  the  red  coat,  tried  to  follow  my  uncle's  exam- 
ple ;  but  he  fell  into  the  middle  of  the  ditch.  "  Good 
enough  for  you  !  "  said  Benjamin,  t;  that's  what  you  get 
by  seeking  a  quarrel  with  people  who  are  not  dreaming 
of  you."  But  the  quadruped,  as  obstinate  as  a  Russian 
mounting  to  an  assault,  was  not  discouraged  by  this 
failure  ;  planting  his  hoofs  in  the  half-thawed  ground, 
he  tried  to  climb  the  slope.  My  uncle,  seeing  that, 
drew  his  sword,  and,  while  he  was  pricking  the  enemy's 
snout  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  he  called  the  peasant, 
and  cried :  "My  good  man,  stop  your  beast ;  else  I  warn 
you  that  I  will  pass  my  sword  through  his  body."  But, 
as  he  said  the  words,  he  let  his  sword  fall  into  the  ditch. 
"  Take  off  your  coat,  and  throw  it  to  him  as  quickly  as 
you  can,"  cried  Machecourt.  "  Hide  among  the  vines," 
said  the  peasant.  "Sic  him  !  sic  him  !  Fontenoy,"  said 
the  sergeant.  The  poodle  leaped  at  the  bull,  and,  as  if 
he  knew  his  enemy,  bit  him  on  the  ham-string.  The 
animal  then  turned  his  wrath  against  the  dog ;  but, 
while  he  was  making  havoc  with  his  horns,  the  peas- 
ant came  up  and  succeeded  in  passing  a  noose  around 
the  bull's  hind  legs.  This  skilful  manoeuvre  was  per- 
fectly successful,  and  put  an  end  to  the  hostilities. 

Benjamin  returned  to  the  road.  He  thought  that 
Machecourt  was  going  to  laugh  at  him,  but  the  latter 
was  as  pale  as  a  sheet  and  trembled  on  his  legs. 

"  Come,  Machecourt,  brace  up,"  said  my  uncle ;  "else 
I  shall  have  to  bleed  you.  And  you,  my  brave  Fonte- 


48  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

noy,  you  have  made  to-day  a  prettier  fable  than  that  of 
La  Fontaine,  entitled  :  '  The  Dove  and  the  Ant.'  You 
see,  gentlemen,  a  good  deed  is  never  lost.  Generally 
the  benefactor  is  obliged  to  give  long  credit  to  the 
beneficiary,  but  he,  Fontenoy,  has  paid  me  in  advance. 
Who  the  devil  would  have  thought  that  I  would  ever 
be  under  obligations  to  a  poodle  ?  " 

Moulot  is  hidden  among  a  clump  of  willows  and 
poplars  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Beuvron  river,  at  the 
foot  of  a  big  hill,  up  which  runs  the  road  to  La  Chapelle. 
A  few  houses  of  the  village  had  already  gone  up  by  the 
side  of  the  road,  as  white  and  as  spick  and  span  as 
peasant  women  when  they  go  into  a  place  frequented 
by  society  ;  among  them  was  Manette's  wine-shop.  At 
sight  of  the  frost-covered  sign  that  hung  from  the  attic- 
window,  Benjamin  began  to  sing  with  his  stentorian 

voice  : 

"  Amis,  il  faut  faire  une  pause, 
J'ape^ois  1'ombre  d'un  bouchon." 

On  hearing  this  familiar  voice,  Manette  ran  blushing 
to  the  threshold  of  her  door. 

Manette  was  really  a  very  pretty  person,  plump, 
chubby,  and  white,  but  perhaps  a  little  too  pink ;  her 
cheeks  would  have  reminded  you  of  a  pool  of  milk,  on 
the  surface  of  which  a  few  drops  of  wine  were  floating. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Benjamin,  "  permit  me  first  of  all 
to  kiss  our  pretty  hostess,  as  an  appetizer  for  the  good 
breakfast  which  she  is  going  to  prepare  for  us  directly." 

"Indeed,  Monsieur  Rathery  ! "  exclaimed  Manette, 
starting  back,  "you  are  not  made  for  peasant  women; 
go  and  kiss  Mademoiselle  Minxit." 

"It  seems,"  thought  my  uncle,  "that  the  report  of 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  49 

my  marriage  has  already  spread  through  the  country. 
No  one  but  M.  Minxit  can  have  spoken  of  it ;  hence  he 
must  be  determined  to  have  me  for  a  son-in-law ;  so,  if 
he  should  not  receive  my  visit  to-day,  that  would  not 
be  a  reason  for  breaking  off  the  negotiations." 

"Manette,"  he  added,  "Mile.  Minxit  is  not  in  ques- 
tion here ;  have  you  any  fish  ?  " 

"There  are  plenty  of  fish,"  said  Manette,  "in  M. 
Minxit's  fish  pond." 

"Again  I  ask  you,  Manette,"  said  Benjamin,  "have 
you  any  fish  ?  Be  careful  what  you  answer." 

"  Well,"  said  Manette,  "  my  husband  has  gone  fish- 
ing, and  he  will  soon  return." 

"  Soon  does  not  meet  our  case ;  put  on  the  gridiron 
as  many  slices  of  ham  as  it  will  hold,  and  make  us  an 
omelette  of  all  the  eggs  in  your  hen-house." 

The  breakfast  was  soon  ready.  While  the  omelette 
was  leaping  in  the  frying-pan,  the  ham  was  broiling. 
Now,  the  omelette  was  almost  as  soon  despatched  as 
served.  It  takes  a  hen  six  months  to  lay  twelve  eggs, 
a  woman  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  convert  them  into  an 
omelette,  and  three  men  five  minutes  to  absorb  the 
omelette.  "See,"  said  Benjamin,  "how  much  more 
rapid  is  decomposition  than  recomposition ;  countries 
covered  with  a  numerous  population  grow  poorer  every 
day.  Man  is  a  greedy  infant  who  makes  his  nurse 
grow  thin ;  the  ox  does  not  restore  to  the  fields  all  the 
grass  that  he  takes  from  it ;  the  ashes  of  the  oak  that 
we  burn  do  not  return  as  an  oak  to  the  forest;  the 
zephyr  does  not  carry  back  to  the  rose-bush  the  leaves 
of  the  bouquet  that  the  young  girl  scatters  around  her; 
the  candle  that  burns  in  front  of  us  does  not  fall  back 


50  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

iii  waxen  dew  upon  the  earth ;  rivers  continually 
despoil  continents,  and  lose  in  the  bosom  of  the  sea  the 
matter  which  they  take  from  their  banks  ;  most  of  the 
mountains  have  no  verdure  left  upon  their  big  bald 
craniums;  the  Alps  show  us  their  bare  and  jagged 
bones;  the  interior  of  Africa  is  nothing  but  a  lake  of 
sand ;  Spain  is  a  vast  moor,  and  Italy  a  great  charnel- 
house  where  there  remains  only  a  bed  of  ashes. 
Wherever  great  peoples  have  passed,  they  have  left 
sterility  in  their  tracks.  This  earth,  adorned  with  ver- 
dure and  with  flowers,  is  a  consumptive  whose  cheeks 
are  red,  but  whose  life  is  condemned.  A  time  will 
come  when  it  will  be  nothing  but  an  inert,  dead,  icy 
mass,  a  great  sepulchral  stone  upon  which  God  will 
write:  'Here  lies  the  human  race.'  Meantime,  gentle- 
men, let  us  profit  by  the  blessings  which  the  earth  gives 
us,  and,  as  she  is  a  tolerably  good  mother,  let  us  drink 
to  her  long  life." 

They  came  then  to  the  ham.  My  grandfather  ate 
from  a  sense  of  duty,  because  man  must  eat  to  main- 
tain his  health  and  must  have  blood  in  order  to  serve 
writs ;  Benjamin  ate  for  amusement ;  but  the  sergeant 
ate  like  a  man  who  sits  down  to  table  for  no  other  pur- 
pose, and  he  did  not  utter  a  word. 

At  table  Benjamin  was  famous ;  but  his  noble 
stomach  was  not  exempt  from  jealousy,  a  base  passion 
which  dims  the  most  brilliant  qualities. 

He  watched  the  sergeant  with  the  vexed  air  of  a 
man  outdone,  as  Caesar  would  have  watched,  from  the 
height  of  the  Capitol,  Bonaparte  winning  the  battle 
of  Marengo.  After  having  contemplated  his  man  for 
some  time  in  silence,  he  thought  fit  to  address  these 
words  to  him : 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  51 

"  Drinking  and  eating  are  two  beings  that  resemble 
each  other  ;  at  first  sight  you  would  take  them  for  own 
cousins.  But  drinking  is  as  much  above  eating  as  the 
eagle  who  alights  upon  the  mountain  peak  is  above 
the  raven  who  perches  on  the  tree-top.  Eating  is  a 
necessity  of  the  stomach;  drinking  is  a  necessity  of 
the  soul.  Eating  is  only  a  common  workman,  while 
drinking  is  an  artist.  Drinking  inspires  poets  with 
pleasant  ideas,  philosophers  with  noble  thoughts,  musi- 
cians with  melodious  strains;  eating  gives  them  only 
indigestion.  Now,  I  flatter  myself,  sergeant,  that  I 
could  drink  quite  as  well  as  you ;  I  even  think  that 
I  could  drink  better ;  but,  when  it  comes  to  eating,  I 
am  the  merest  novice  beside  you.  You  could  cope 
with  Arthus  in  person  ;  I  even  think  that  on  a  turkey 
you  could  go  him  one  wing  better." 

"You  see,"  answered  the  sergeant,  "I  eat  for  yester- 
day, to-day,  and  to-morrow." 

"Permit  me  then  to  serve  you  for  day  after-to- 
morrow this  last  slice  of  ham." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  there 
is  an  end  to  everything." 

"Well,  the  Creator  who  has  made  soldiers  to  pass 
suddenly  from  extreme  abundance  to  extreme  want  has 
given  to  them,  as  to  the  camel,  two  stomachs;  their 
second  stomach  is  their  knapsack.  Take  this  ham, 
which  neither  Machecourt  nor  I  want,  and  put  it  in 
your  knapsack." 

"  No,"  said  the  soldier,  "  I  do  not  need  to  lay  up  pro- 
visions ;  I  always  get  food  enough ;  permit  me  to  offer 
this  ham  to  Fontenoy ;  we  are  in  the  habit  of  sharing 
everything  together,  on  days  of  feast  as  on  days  of 
fast." 


52  MY  TTPTCLE  BENJAMIN-. 

"  You  have  there,  indeed,  a  dog  who  deserves  to  be 
well  taken  care  of,"  said  my  uncle ;  "  will  you  sell  him 
tome?" 

"  Monsieur !  "  exclaimed  the  sergeant,  quickly  placing 
his  hand  upon  his  poodle. 

"  Pardon  me,  worthy  man,  pardon  me ;  I  am  dis- 
tressed at  having  offended  you ;  I  spoke  only  in  jest ; 
I  know  very  well  that  to  propose  to  a  poor  man  to  sell 
his  dog  is  like  proposing  to  a  mother  to  sell  her  child." 

"You  will  never  make  me  believe,"  said  my  grand- 
father, "  that  one  can  love  a  dog  as  much  as  a  child ;  I, 
too,  once  had  a  poodle,  a  poodle  that  was  well  worth 
yours,  sergeant, —  be  it  said  without  offence  to  Fonte- 
noy, —  save  that  he  has  taken  prisoner  nothing  but  the 
tax-collector's  wig.  Well,  one  day,  when  I  had  lawyer 
Page  to  dinner,  he  ran  off  with  a  calfs  head,  and  that 
very  night  I  passed  him  under  the  mill-wheel." 

"  What  you  say  proves  nothing ;  you  have  a  wife  and 
six  children ;  it  is  quite  work  enough  for  you  to  love 
all  these  people  without  forming  a  romantic  affection 
for  a  poodle  ;  but  I  am  talking  of  a  poor  devil  isolated 
among  men  and  with  no  relative  but  his  dog.  Put  a 
man  with  a  dog  in  a  desert  island,  in  another  desert 
island  put  a  woman  with  her  child,  and  I  will  wager 
that  in  six  months'  time  the  man  will  love  the  dog,  pro- 
vided the  dog  is  amiable,  as  well  as  the  woman  will  love 
her  child." 

"  I  can  conceive,"  answered  my  grandfather,  "  that  a 
traveller  may  like  a  dog  to  keep  him  company,  that  an 
old  woman  that  lives  alone  in  her  room  may  like  a  pug 
with  which  to  babble  all  day  long.  Bat  that  a  man 
should  love  a  dog  with  real  affection,  that  he  should 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  53 

love  him  as  a  Christian,  that  is  what  I  deny,  that  is 
what  I  deem  impossible." 

"And  I  tell  you  that  under  certain  circumstances 
you  would  love  even  a  rattlesnake ;  the  loving  fibre  in 
man  cannot  remain  entirely  inert.  The  human  soul 
abhors  a  vacuum;  observe  attentively  the  most  hard- 
ened egoist,  and  at  last  you  will  find,  like  a  little  flower 
among  the  stones,  an  affection  hidden  under  a  fold  of 
his  soul. 

"  It  is  a  general  rule,  to  which  there  is  no  exception, 
that  man  must  love  something.  The  dragoon  who  has 
no  mistress  loves  his  horse ;  the  young  girl  who  has  no 
lover  loves  her  bird;  the  prisoner,  who  cannot  in  de- 
cency love  his  jailer,  loves  the  spider  that  spins  its  web 
in  the  window  of  his  cell,  or  the  fly  that  comes  down  to 
him  in  a  ray  of  sunlight:  When  we  find  nothing  ani- 
mate to  absorb  our  affections,  we  love  material  objects, 
—  a  ring,  a  snuff-box,  a  tree,  a  flower;  the  Dutchman 
feels  a  passion  for  his  tulips,  and  the  antiquary  for  his 
cameos." 

Just  then  Manette's  husband  came  in  with  a  fat  eel 
in  his  basket. 

"  Machecourt,"  said  Benjamin,  "  it  is  noon, —  that  is 
to  say,  dinner-time ;  suppose  we  make  a  dinner  of 
this  eel?" 

"  It  is  time  to  go,"  said  Machecourt,  "  and  we  shall 
dine  at  M.  Minxit's." 

"  And  you,  sergeant  ?     Suppose  we  eat  this  eel  ?  " 

"  For  my  part,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  I  am  in  no 
hurry ;  as  I  am  not  going  anywhere  in  particular,  I 
spend  every  night  at  home." 

"  Very  well  said  !  And  the  respectable  poodle,  what 
is  his  opinion  on  this  point  ?  " 


54  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

The  poodle  looked  at  Benjamin  and  wagged  his  tail 
two  or  three  times. 

"  Well,  silence  gives  consent :  so,  Machecourt,  there 
are  three  of  us  against  you  ;  you  must  bow  to  the  will 
of  the  majority.  The  majority,  you  see,  my  friend, 
is  stronger  than  the  rest  of  the  world.  Put  ten  philos- 
ophers on  one  side  and  eleven  fools  on  the  other,  and 
the  fools  will  carry  the  day." 

"  The  eel  is  indeed  a  very  fine  one,"  said  my  grand- 
father, "  and,  if  Manette  has  a  little  fresh  bacon,  it  will 
make  an  excellent  matelote.  But,  the  devil !  what 
about  my  writ  ?  That  must  be  served." 

"  Mark  this,"  said  Benjamin  ;  "  it  will  undoubtedly 
be  necessary  for  some  one  to  lend  me  his  arm  to  escort 
me  back  to  Clamecy.  If  you  shirk  this  pious  duty,  I 
will  no  longer  own  you  as  my  brother-in-law." 

Now,  as  Machecourt  was  very  anxious  to  continue  as 
Benjamin's  brother-in-law,  he  remained. 

The  eel  being  ready,  they  sat  down  at  table  again. 
Manette's  matelote  was  a  chef-d  'ceuvre ;  the  sergeant 
did  not  tire  of  admiring  it.  But  the  chefs-d'oeuvre  of 
the  cook  are  ephemeral ;  we  scarcely  give  them  time  to 
cool.  There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  arts  that  can  be 
compared  to  culinary  products ;  I  refer  to  the  products 
of  journalism ;  and  even  a  stew  can  be  warmed  over,  a 
terrine  oifoie  gras  may  keep  a  whole  month,  and  a  ham 
may  see  its  admirers  gather  about  it  many  times;  but 
a  newspaper  article  has  no  to-morrow  ;  before  we  reach 
the  end,  we  have  forgotten  the  beginning,  and,  when 
we  have  finished  it,  we  throw  it  on  our  desk,  as  we 
throw  our  napkin  on  the  table  after  we  have  dined. 
Consequently  I  do  not  understand  how  a  man  of  liter- 


MY  TJNCLE  BENJAMIN.  55 

ary  value  can  consent  to  waste  his  talents  in  the  obscure 
works  of  journalism  ;  how  he  who  might  write  on  parch- 
ment can  make  up  his  mind  to  scribble  on  the  blotting- 
paper  of  a  journal ;  certainly  it  must  occasion  him  no 
small  heart-break  to  see  the  leaves  upon  which  he  has 
placed  his  thought  fall  noiselessly  with  those  thousand 
other  leaves  which  the  immense  tree  of  the  press  shakes 
daily  from  its  branches. 

Meanwhile  the  hand  of  the  cuckoo  clock  kept  moving 
on,  while  my  uncle  philosophized.  Benjamin  did  not 
notice  that  it  was  dark  until  Manette  placed  a  lighted 
candle  on  the  table.  Then,  without  waiting  for  the 
observations  of  Machecourt,  who  for  that  matter  was 
scarcely  in  a  condition  to  observe  anything,  he  declared 
that  they  had  had  enough  for  one  day,  and  that  it  was 
time  to  return  to  Clamecy. 

The  sergeant  and  my  grandfather  went  out  first. 
Manette  stopped  my  uncle  at  the  threshold. 

"  Monsieur  Rathery,"  said  she,  "see  here." 

"  What  is  this  scrawl  ?  "  said  my  uncle.  "  '  August  10, 
three  bottles  of  wine  with  a  cream  cheese  ;  September  1, 
with  M.  Page,  nine  bottles  and  a  plate  of  fish.'  God 
forgive  me,  I  believe  it  is  a  bill." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  Manette  ;  "  I  see  clearly  that  it 
is  time  to  balance  our  accounts,  and  I  hope  that  you 
will  send  me  yours  very  soon." 

"  For  my  part,  Manette,  I  have  no  account  to  render. 
It  is  an  agreeable  duty  indeed  to  touch  the  plump 
white  arm  of  a  pretty  woman  like  yourself." 

"  You  say  that  to  laugh  at  me,  Monsieur  Rathery," 
exclaimed  Manette,  thrilling  with  delight. 

"  I  say  it  because  it  is  true,  because  I  think  it,"  an- 


56  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

swered  my  uncle.  "  As  for  your  bill,  my  poor  Manette, 
it  comes  at  a  fatal  moment ;  I  am  obliged  to  declare  to 
you  that  I  haven't  the  smallest  coin  at  the  present  hour; 
but,  stay,  here  is  my  watch ;  you  shall  keep  it  until  I 
have  paid  you.  It  is  in  the  best  possible  condition ;  it 
hasn't  been  going  since  yesterday." 

Manette  began  to  weep,  and  tore  up  the  bill. 

My  uncle  kissed  her  on  the  cheek,  on  the  forehead, 
on  the  eyes,  and  wherever  he  could  find  a  place  to  kiss 
her. 

"  Benjamin,"  said  Manette  to  him,  leaning  over  to 
whisper  in  his  ear,  "  if  you  need  money,  tell  me  so." 

"No,  no,  Manette,"  my  uncle  answered  quickly,  "I 
do  not  need  your  money.  The  devil !  that  would  be 
getting  serious.  To  make  you  pay  for  the  happiness 
you  give  me  !  Why,  that  would  be  an  indignity ;  I 
should  be  as  vile  as  a  prostitute ! "  And  he  kissed 
Manette  as  he  had  done  before. 

"  Oh,  do  not  embarrass  yourself,  Monsieur  Rathery," 
said  Jean-Pierre,  who  just  then  came  in. 

"  What,  you  were  there,  Jean-Pierre  ?  Are  you  jeal- 
ous, then  ?  I  warn  you  that  I  have  a  profound  aver- 
sion for  jealous  people." 

"  Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  a  good  right  to  be 
jealous." 

"  Imbecile !  you  always  take  things  wrong.  These 
gentlemen  have  charged  me  to  testify  to  your  wife  their 
satisfaction  for  the  excellent  matelote  which  she  has 
made  for  us,  and  I  was  fulfilling  the  commission." 

"  There  was  a  good  way,  it  seems  to  me,  to  testify 
your  satisfaction  to  Manette ;  and  that  was  by  paying 
her,  do  you  understand  ?  " 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  57 

"  Iii  the  first  place,  Jean-Pierre,  we  are  not  dealing 
with  you :  it  is  Manette  who  keeps  this  tavern ;  as  for 
paying  you,  rest  easy,  I  charge  myself  with  the  bill; 
you  know  that  no  one  ever  loses  anything  by  me ;  and 
besides,  if  you  are  afraid  of  waiting  too  long,  I  will 
straightway  pass  my  sword  through  your  body.  Does 
that  suit  you,  Jean-Pierre  ?  " 

And  with  these  words  he  went  out. 

Up  to  this  time  Benjamin  had  only  been  over-ex- 
cited; he  contained  all  the  elements  of  intoxication, 
without  yet  being  intoxicated.  But,  on  leaving  Ma- 
nette's  wine-shop,  the  cold  seized  upon  his  brain  and 
legs. 

"  Hello,  there,  Machecourt,  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Here  I  am,  holding  on  to  the  lappel  of  your  coat." 

"You  hold  me,  that's  good,  that  does  me  honor,  you 
flatter  me.  You  mean  to  say  thereby  that  I  am  in  a 
condition  to  sustain  both  my  hypostasis  and  your  own. 
At  another  time,  yes ;  but  now  I  am  as  weak  as  the 
most  ordinary  of  men  when  he  has  remained  too  long 
at  dinner.  I  have  engaged  your  arm,  I  call  upon  you  to 
offer  it  to  me." 

"At  another  time,  yes,"  said  Machecourt;  "but  there 
is  a  difficulty  in  the  way ;  I  cannot  walk  myself." 

"  Then  you  have  forfeited  your  honor,  you  have  failed 
in  the  most  sacred  of  duties ;  I  had  engaged  your  arm, 
you  were  to  save  yourself  for  both  of  us ;.  but  I  forgive 
your  weakness.  Homo  sum,  .  .  .  that  is  to  say,  I  forgive 
you  on  one  condition :  that  you  go  directly  for  the 
town  constable  and  two  peasants  carrying  torches  to 
escort  me  back  to  Clamecy.  You  shall  take  one  of  the 
officer's  arms,  and  I  the  other." 


58  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  But  the  constable  has  but  one  arm,"  said  my  grand- 
father. 

"Then  the  valid  arm  belongs  to  me.  The  best  that 
I  can  do  for  you  is  to  allow  you  to  hang  on  to  my  cue, 
and  you  must  take  care  not  to  untie  the  ribbon.  Or, 
if  you  prefer,  get  on  the  poodle's  back." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  sergeant,  "why  look  so  far 
for  what  is  close  at  hand?  I  have  two  good  arms, 
which  fortunately  the  bullet  has  spared,  and  I  place 
them  at  your  disposition." 

"You  are  a  brave  man,  sergeant,"  said  my  uncle, 
taking  the  old  soldier's  right  arm. 

"An  excellent  man,"  said  my  grandfather,  taking 
his  left  arm. 

"  I  charge  myself  with  your  future,  sergeant." 

"  And  I  too,  sergeant,  I  charge  myself  with  it,  al- 
though, to  tell  the  truth,  any  charge  at  the  present 
moment"  .  .  . 

"  I  will  teach  you  to  pull  teeth,  sergeant." 

"And  I,  sergeant,  will  teach  your  poodle  to  be  a 
bailiff's  keeper." 

"  In  three  months  you  will  be  able  to  be  a  fakir  at 
the  fairs." 

"In  three  months  your  poodle,  if  he  behaves  himself, 
will  be  able  to  earn  thirty  sous  a  day." 

"  The  sergeant  shall  serve  his  apprenticeship  by  prac- 
tising on  you^Machecourt ;  you  have  some  decayed  old . 
stumps  that  torment  you ;  we  will  pull  them  out,  one 
every  two  days,  in  order  not  to  fatigue  you,  and  when 
we  have  finished  with  the  stumps,  we  will  pull  out  your 
gums." 

"  And  I  will  put  my  bailiff's  keeper  at  the  service  of 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  59 

your  creditors,  old  dead-beat.  I  will  proceed  to  tell 
you  in  advance  of  the  duties  you  will  have  to  fulfil 
toward  him.  You  must  give  him,  in  the  morning,  bread 
and  cheese,  or,  in  the  season,  a  bunch  of  little  radishes ; 
for  dinner,  soup  and  boiled  beef,  and  for  supper  a  roast 
and  a  salad,  though  the  salad  may  be  replaced  by  a 
glass  of  wine.  You  will  take  care  that  he  does  not  pine 
away  in  your  hands,  for  nothing  does  so  much  honor  to 
a  debtor  as  a  good  fat  keeper.  On  his-  side  he  must  be- 
have properly  toward  you ;  he  has  no  right  to  disturb 
you  in  your  occupations,  to  play,  for  instance,  the  clari- 
nette,  or  sound  the  hunting  horn." 

"  Meantime  I  offer  the  sergeant  a  residence  at  the 
house  ;  you  do  not  disapprove,  do  you,  Machecourt  ? " 

"  Not  exactly,  but  I  am  very  much  afraid  that  your 
dear  sister  will  disown  you." 

"  Oh,  gentlemen,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  let  us  under- 
stand each  other.  Do  not  expose  me  to  insult ;  for,  I 
warn  you,  one  or  the  other  of  you  wrill  have  to  answer 
for  it." 

"  Rest  easy,  sergeant,"  said  my  uncle ;  "  and,  if  the 
case  occurs,  you  will  have  to  address  yourself  to  me ; 
for  Machecourt  doesn't  know  how  to  fight,  except  when 
his  adversary  gives  him  the  sword  and  keeps  the 
scabbard." 

While  thus  philosophizing,  they  reached  the  door  of 
the  house.  My  grandfather  was  not  anxious  to  enter 
first,  and  my  uncle  preferred  to  enter  second. 

To  settle  the  matter,  they  entered  both  together, 
knocking  against  each  other  like  two  gourds  carried 
at  the  end  of  a  stick. 

The  sergeant  and  the  poodle,  whose  intrusion  made 


60  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

the  cat  growl  like  a  royal  tigress,  brought  up  the 
rear. 

"My  dear  sister,"  said  Benjamin,  "  I  have  the  honor 
to  introduce  to  you  a  pupil  in  surgery  and  a  "... 

"Benjamin  is  beginning  to  talk  nonsense  to  you," 
interrupted  my  grandfather;  "don't  listen  to  him. 
Monsieur  is  a  soldier  sent  us  to  be  lodged  and  whom 
we  met  at  the  door." 

My  grandmother  was  a  good  woman,  but  something 
of  a  shrew;  she  thought  that  to  talk  very  loud  added 
to  her  importance.  She  had  the  greatest  desire  in  the 
world  to  get  angry,  and  all  the  more  desire  because  she 
had  the  right.  But  she  prided  herself  on  her  good 
breeding,  being  a  descendant  of  a  lawyer ;  and  the  pres- 
ence of  a  stranger  restrained  her. 

She  offered  the  sergeant  some  supper.  The  latter 
having  declined  and  for  good  reason,  she  bade  one  of 
her  children  take  him  to  the  neighboring  tavern,  with  an 
order  that  breakfast  be  given  him  in  the  morning  before 
his  departure. 

My  grandfather  always  bent  like  a  rush, —  peace- 
able, worthy  man  that  he  was, —  when  he  saw  a  conjugal 
storm  brewing.  Up  to  a  certain  point  this  weakness 
was  perhaps  excusable  in  him,  inasmuch  as  he  was 
always  in  the  wrong. 

He  had  clearly  seen  the  clouds  massing  on  his  wife's 
wrinkled  brow ;  and  so  the  sergeant  had  hardly  reached 
the  threshold  when  he  had  gained  his  bed,  into  which 
he  found  his  way  as  best  he  could.  As  for  Benjamin, 
he  was  incapable  of  such  cowardice.  A  sermon  in  five 
points,  like  a  game  of  ScartS,  would  not  have  sent  him 
to  bed  a  minute  before  his  time.  He  was  willing  that 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  61 

his  sister  should  scold  him,  but  he  could  not  consent  to 
fear  her.  He  awaited  the  tempest  that  was  about  to 
burst  forth,  with  the  indifference  of  a  rock,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  his  back  resting  against  the  mantel- 
shelf, and  humming  between  his  lips : 

"  Malbrough  s'en  va-t-en  guerre, 
Mironton,  mironton,  mirontaine, 
Malbrough  s'en  va-t-en  guerre, 
Savoir  s'il  reviendra." 

My  grandmother  had  scarcely  conducted  the  sergeant 
to  the  door,  when,  impatient  for  the  fray,  she  came 
back  to  confront  Benjamin. 

"  Well,  Benjamin,  are  you  satisfied  with  your  day's 
work  ?  Do  you  like  the  situation  in  which  you  are  ? 
Or  must  I  go  and  draw  a  bottle  of  white  wine  for 
you?" 

"Thank  you,  dear  sister.  As  you  have  said  very 
elegantly,  my  day's  work  is  done." 

"A  fine  day's  work,  indeed  !  It  would  take  many  of 
that  sort  to  pay  your  debts.  Have  you  at  least  reason 
enough  left  to  tell  me  how  M.  Minxit  received  you?" 

"  Mironton,  mironton,  mirontaine,  dear  sister,"  said 
Benjamin. 

"  Ah !  mironton,  mironton,  mirontaine,"  cried  my 
grandmother;  "just  wait,  and  I  will  give  you  miron- 
ton, mirontaine" 

And  she  seized  the  tongs.  My  uncle  took  three 
steps  backward  and  drew  his  sword. 

"  Dear  sister,"  said  he,  putting  himself  on  guard,  "  I 
hold  you  responsible  for  all  the  blood  that  is  about  to 
be  shed  here." 

But  my  grandmother,  although  she  was  descended 


62  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

from  a  lawyer,  had  no  fear  of  a  sword.  She  dealt  her 
brother  a  blow  with  the  tongs  that  struck  him  on  the 
thumb  and  made  him  drop  his  sword. 

Benjamin  hopped  about  the  room,  squeezing  his 
wounded  thumb  in  his  left  hand.  As  for  my  grand- 
father, although  he  was  good  among  the  best,  he  was 
bursting  with  laughter  under  the  bed-clothes.  He 
could  not  help  saying  to  my  uncle : 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  that  thrust  ?  This  time  you 
had  both  the  scabbard  and  the  sword.  You  cannot  say 
that  the  weapons  were  not  equal." 

"  Alas !  no,  Machecourt,  they  were  not ;  for  that,  I 
ought  to  have  had  the  shovel.  All  the  same,  your  wife 
—  for  I  can  no  longer  say  my  dear  sister  —  deserves  to 
wear  at  her  side,  instead  of  a  distaff,  a  pair  of  tongs. 
With  a  pair  of  tongs  she  would  win  battles.  I  am  con- 
quered, I  confess,  and  I  must  submit  to  the  law  of  the 
conqueror.  Well,  no,  we  did  not  go  to  Corvol;  we 
stopped  at  Manette's." 

"  Always  at  Manette's,  a  married  woman  !  Are  you 
not  ashamed,  Benjamin,  of  such  conduct  ?  " 

"Ashamed!  And  why,  dear  sister?  As  soon  as  a 
tavern-keeper  gets  married,  must  one  no  longer  break- 
fast at  her  establishment?  That  is  not  my  way  of 
looking  at  it;  to  a  true  philosopher  a  tavern  has  no 
sex.  Isn't  that  so,  Machecourt  ?  " 

"When  I  meet  her  at  the  market,  your  Manette,  I 
will  treat  the  wench  as  she  deserves." 

"  Dear  sister,  when  you  meet  Manette  at  the  market, 
buy  her  as  many  cream  cheeses  as  you  like,  but  if  you 
insult  her  "... 

"  Well,  if  I  should  insult  her,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIK.  63 

"  I  would  leave  you,  I  would  go  away  to  the  islands, 
and  I  would  take  Machecourt  with  me,  I  warn  you." 

My  grandmother  understood  that  all  these  transports 
would  end  in  nothing,  and  she  at  once  decided  upon  her 
course. 

"  You  shall  follow  the  example  of  that  drunkard  in 
bed  yonder,"  said  she  ;  "  you  need  to  lie  down  as  much 
as  he.  But  to-morrow  I  shall  take  you  myself  to  M. 
Minxit's,  and  we  shall  see  if  you  will  stop  on  the  way." 

"  Mironton,  mironton,  mirontaine"  hummed  Benja- 
min, as  he  started  off  for  bed. 

The  idea  of  the  morrow's  proceedings  disturbed  my 
uncle's  usually  peaceful,  deep,  and  sound  slumbers ;  he 
dreamed  aloud,  and  this  is  what  he  said : 

"  You  say,  sergeant,  that  you  have  dined  like  a  king. 
That  is  not  the  word;  you  use  the  rhetorical  figure 
known  as  the  litotes.  You  have  dined  better  than  an 
emperor.  Kings  and  emperors,  in  spite  of  all  their 
power,  cannot  have  anything  extra,  and  you  have  had 
something  extra.  You  see,  sergeant,  everything  is  rela- 
tive. This  matelote  is  certainly  not  worth  a  truffled 
partridge.  Nevertheless,  it  has  tickled  the  nerves  of 
your  palate  more  agreeably  than  a  truffled  partridge 
would  tickle  the  king's.  Why  is  that  ?  Because  his 
majesty's  palate  is  blasS  in  the  matter  of  truffles, 
whereas  yours  is  not  accustomed  to  matelotes. 

"My  dear  sister  tells  me:  '  Benjamin,  do  something 
to  get  rich.  Benjamin,  marry  Mile.  Minxit  that  you 
may  have  a  good  dowry.'  What  good  would  that  do 
me  ?  Does  the  butterfly  take  the  trouble  to  build  a 
nest  for  the  two  or  three  months  of  fine  days  allotted 
it  for  its  life?  I  am  convinced  that  enjoyments  are 


64  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

relative  to  position,  and  that  at  the  end  of  the  year  the 
beggar  and  the  rich  man  have  had  the  same  amount  of 
happiness. 

"  Each  individual  becomes  accustomed  to  his  situa- 
tion, be  it  good  or  bad.  The  cripple  no  longer  per 
ceives  that  he  walks  with  a  crutch,  or  the  rich  man 
that  he  has  a  carriage.  The  poor  snail  who  carries  his 
house  on  his  back  enjoys  a  day  of  perfume  and  sun- 
shine as  much  as  the  bird  who  chirps  above  him  in  the 
branches.  It  is  not  the  cause  that  is  to  be  considered, 
but  the  effect  that  it  produces.  Is  not  the  journeyman 
sitting  on  his  bench  in  front  of  his  cottage  as  comfort- 
able as  the  king  on  the  eider-down  cushion  of  his  arm- 
chair ?  Does  not  the  peasant  eat  his  soup  of  cabbage 
with  as  much  pleasure  as  the  king  eats  his  soup  of 
crabs  ?  And  does  not  the  beggar  sleep  as  well  in  the 
straw  as  the  great  lady  under  her  silk  curtains  and 
between  the  perfumed  linen  of  her  bed  ?  The  child 
who  finds  a  sou  is  happier  than  the  banker  who  has 
found  a  louis,  and  the  poor  peasant  who  inherits  an 
acre  of  ground  is  as  triumphant  as  the  king  whose 
armies  have  conquered  a  province  and  who  makes  his 
people  strike  up  a  Te  Deum. 

"  Every  evil  here  below  is  compensated  by  a  good, 
and  every  good  that  parades  itself  is  attenuated  by  an 
invisible  evil.  God  has  a  thousand  ways  of  making 
compensations.  If  he  has  given  good  dinners  to  one, 
to  another  he  gives  a  little  better  appetite,  and  that 
re-establishes  the  equilibrium.  To  the  rich  man  he  has 
given  the  fear  of  losing  and  the  care  of  keeping,  and  to 
the  beggar  carelessness.  In  sending  us  into  this  place 
of  exile  he  has  laden  us  all  with  an  almost  equal  bag- 


MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  65 

gage  of  misery  and  comfort.  If  it  were  otherwise,  he 
would  not  be  just,  for  all  men  are  his  children. 

"And  why,  then,  in  fact,  should  the  rich  man  be 
happier  than  the  poor  man  ?  To  be  sure,  he  does  no 
work  ;  but  he  has  not  the  pleasure  of  resting. 

"  He  has  fine  clothes ;  but  all  the  charm  of  them  is 
enjoyed  by  those  who  look  at  him.  When  the  church- 
warden makes  a  saint's  toilet,  does  he  do  it  for  the  saint 
or  for  his  adorers  ?  For  the  rest,  does  not  a  hump-back 
show  as  plainly  under  a  velvet  coat  as  under  a  linsey- 
woolsey  ? 

"  The  rich  man  has  two,  three,  four,  ten  valets  in  his 
service.  My  God !  why  proudly  add  this  quantity  of 
useless  members  to  one's  body,  when  it  needs  but  four 
to  serve  our  person?  The  man  accustomed  to  be 
served  is  an  unfortunate,  crippled  in  all  his  members, 
who  has  to  be  fed. 

"This  rich  man  has  a  city  mansion  and  a  country 
house  ;  but  of  what  use  is  the  country  house  when  the 
owner  is  in  the  mansion,  or  the  mansion  when  he  is  in 
the  country  house  ?  What  boots  it  that  his  lodgings 
consist  of  twenty  rooms,  when  he  can  occupy  only  one 
at  a  time  ? 

"  Adjoining  his  country  house,  he  has  for  his  dreamy 
promenades  an  immense  park,  enclosed  by  a  wall  of 
lime  and  sand  ten  feet  high ;  but,  in  the  first  place, 
suppose  he  has  no  dreams?  and  then  is  not  the  open 
country,  enclosed  only  by  the  horizon  and  belonging 
to  all,  as  beautiful  as  his  great  park? 

"  In  the  middle  of  the  aforesaid  park,  a  canal  fed  by 
a  little  stream  drags  along  its  greenish  and  sickly 
waters,  to  the  surface  of  which  adhere,  like  plasters, 


66  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN, 

the  broad  leaves  of  the  water-lily ;  but  is  not  the  river 
that  flows  freely  through  the  open  country  clearer  and 
more  liquid  than  his  canal? 

"  Dahlias  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  varieties  line  his 
walks ;  grant  it ;  I  give  you  four  per  cent,  additional, 
which  makes  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  varieties ;  but 
is  not  the  elm-shaded  road  that  winds  through  the  grass 
like  a  serpent  well  worth  his  walks  ?  And  the  hedges 
festooned  with  wild  roses  and  sprinkled  with  hawthorn, 
the  hedges  which  mingle  with  the  wind  their  tufts  of 
many  colors  and  scatter  flowers  by  the  wayside, —  are 
they  not  well  worth  those  dahlias  whose  merits  can 
only  be  appreciated  by  the  horticulturist? 

"  The  aforesaid  park  belongs  to  him  exclusively,  you 
say :  you  are  mistaken ;  it  is  only  the  purchase-deed 
locked  up  in  his  secretary  of  which  he  has  the  exclusive 
ownership,  and  he  only  has  that  on  condition  that  the 
ticks  do  not  eat  it. 

"  His  park  belongs  to  him  much  less  than  to  the  birds 
that  build  their  nests  there,  the  rabbits  who  browse 
amid  the  wild  thyme,  and  the  insects  who  rustle  under 
the  leaves. . 

"  Can  his  watchman  keep  the  serpent  from  coiling  in 
the  grass,  or  the  toad  from  nestling  under  the  moss? 

"The  rich  man  gives  parties ;  but  are  not  the  dances 
under  the  old  lindens  of  the  promenade,  to  the  sound 
of  the  bag-pipe,  parties  also? 

"  The  rich  man  has  a  carriage.  He  has  a  carriage, 
the  unfortunate !  But  is  he  then  a  cripple  or  a  para- 
lytic ?  There  is  a  woman  yonder  carrying  one  child  in 
her  arms,  while  another  gambols  about  her,  running 
after  the  butterflies  and  flowers.  Which  of  the  two 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  67 

little  ones  is  in  the  more  agreeable  situation?  A  car- 
riage !  But  that  is  an  infirmity ;  let  a  wheel  break,  or 
your  horse  cast  a  shoe,  and  there  you  are  a  cripple. 
Those  grandees  who,  in  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  had 
themselves  carried  to  the  ball-room  on  a  litter,  poor 
people  who  had  legs  to  dance  and  none  to  walk, —  how 
much  they  must  have  suffered  from  the  fatigue  of  those 
who  carried  them  ! 

"  You  think  that  to  go  in  a  carriage  is  an  enjoyment 
of  the  rich  man ;  you  are  mistaken  ;  it  is  only  a  sort  of 
slavery  which  his  vanity  imposes  upon  him.  If  it  were 
otherwise,  why  should  this  gentleman  and  this  lady, 
.who  are  as  thin  as  a  bundle  of  thorns  and  whom  an  ass 
could  carry  with  the  greatest  ease,  harness  four  horses 
to  their  coach? 

"  For  my  part,  when  I  am  on  the  greensward,  in  moss 
up  to  my  ankles ;  when  I  am  wandering  at  will  along  a 
beautiful  cross-road,  with  hands  in  my  pockets,  dream- 
ing and  leaving  behind  me,  like  one  of  the  damned 
passing,  the  blue  smoke  from  my  blackened  pipe ;  or 
when  I  follow  slowly,  in  the  beautiful  moonlight,  the 
white  road  festoonecT  on  one  side  by  the  shadow  of  the 
hedges,  I  should  very  much  like  to  see  anyone  have  the 
insolence  to  offer  me  a  carriage." 

With  these  words,  my  uncle  awoke. 

"What!"  you  say;  "your  uncle  dreamed  that? 
And  out  loud?" 

Why,  what  is  there  that's  astonishing  in  that?  Did 
not  Madame  George  Sand  make  the  reverend  father 
Spiridion  dream  aloud  a  whole  chapter  in  one  of  her 
novels?  Has  not  M.  Golbe*ry  dreamed  aloud  in  the 
Chamber,  for  a  whole  hour,  of  a  proposition  on  the  re- 


68  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

port  of  the  parliamentary  debates?  And  have  not  we 
ourselves  been  dreaming  for  the  last  thirteen  years  that 
we  have  made  a  revolution?  When  my  uncle  had  not 
had  time  to"  philosophize  during  the  day,  he  philoso- 
phized while  dreaming,  to  make  up  for  it.  That  is  how 
I  explain  the  phenomenon  the  result  of  which  I  have 
just  related  to  you. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HOW  MY  UNCLE    PASSED    HIMSELF   OFF    FOB  THE  WANDERIXG 

JEW. 

MEANWHILE  my  grandmother  had  put  on  her  shot- 
colored  silk  dress,  which  she  took  from  her  drawer  only 
on  grand  and  solemn  festival  occasions;  she  had  fas- 
tened over  her  round  cap,  in  the  form  of  a  head-band, 
the  finest  of  her  ribbons,  a  cherry-red  ribbon  as  broad 
as  one's  hand  and  broader ;  she  had  got  ready  her  short 
cloak  of  black  taffeta  trimmed  with  lace  of  the  same 
color,  and  she  had  taken  from  its  box  her  new  lynx  muff, 
a  present  which  Benjamin  had  made  her  on  her  birth- 
day, and  for  which  he  still  owed  the  furrier.  When  she 
was  thus  dressed  up,  she  ordered  one  of  her  children  to 
go  after  M.  Durand's  ass,  a  fine  little  animal,  which  at 
the  last  fair  at  Billy  had  cost  three  pistoles,  and  was  let 
for  thirty-six  deniers  more  than  ordinary  asses. 

Then  she  called  Benjamin.  "When  the  latter  came 
down,  M.  Durand's  ass,  with  his  two  baskets  hanging 
over  his  flanks  and  between  them  a  large  and  very 
white  pillow,  was  fastened  before  the  door  eating  his 
provision  of  bran  that  had  been  served  him  in  a  basket 
on  a  chair. 

Benjamin  first  anxiously  inquired  whether  Mache- 
court  was  there  to  drink  a  glass  of  white  wine  with 
him.  His  sister  having  told  him  that  he  had  gone  out, 
he  added : 

"  I  hope  at  least,  my  good  sister,  that  you  will  be 


70  MY  TINGLE  BENJAMIN. 

friendly  enough  to  take  a  little  glass  of  ratafia  with 
me."  For  my  uncle's  stomach  knew  how  to  put  itself 
within  the  reach  of  all  stomachs. 

My  grandmother  did  not  dislike  ratafia,  on  the  con- 
trary; she  accepted  Benjamin's  proposition,  and  per- 
mitted him  to  go  after  the  carafe.  Finally,  after  hav- 
ing warned  my  father,  who  was  the  oldest  child,  not 
to  beat  his  brothers,  and  Premoins,  who  was  indisposed, 
to  ask  in  case  he  felt  certain  needs,  and  after  having 
set  Surgie  her  stint  of  knitting  work,  she  mounted  the 
little  ass. 

Long  live  the  earth  and  the  sun !  The  neighbors 
had  gathered  in  their  door-ways  to  see  her  start ;  for  in 
those  days  to  see  a  woman  of  the  middle  class  dressed 
up  on  any  other  day  than  Sunday  was  an  event  of  which 
everyone  who  witnessed  it  tried  to  penetrate  the  causes, 
and  upon  which  he  built  a  system. 

Benjamin,  cleanly  shaven  and  superabundantly  pow- 
dered, and  as  red  moreover  as  a  poppy  spreading  in  the 
morning  sun  after  a  stormy  night,  followed  on  behind, 
uttering  from  time  to  time  a  vigorous  "  Gee-hup  "  in  a 
chest  C,  and  pricking  the  animal  with  the  point  of  his 
rapier. 

M.  Durand's  ass,  thus  pricked  in  the  loins  by  my 
uncle's  sword,  went  very  well ;  he  went  too  well  even 
to  suit  my  grandmother,  who  bobbed  up  and  down  on 
her  pillow  like  a  shuttlecock  on  a  battledore.  But  at 
some  distance  from  the  spot  where  the  road  to  Moulot 
separates  from  the  road  to  La  Chapelle  to  go  on  to  its 
humble  destination,  she  perceived  that  the  gait  of  her 
ass  slackened,  like  a  jet  of  molten  metal  which  thickens 
and  moves  slower  the  farther  it  gets  from  the  furnace ; 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIK.  71 

his  bell,  which  up  to  that  time  had  kept  up  a  proud  and 
very  pronounced  jingling,  now  gave  forth  only  spas- 
modic sighs,  like  a  voice  in  the  hour  of  the  death  agony. 
My  grandmother  turned  around  to  seek  an  explanation 
from  Benjamin ;  but  the  latter  had  disappeared,  melted 
like  a  ball  of  wax,  conjured  away,  lost  like  a  midge  in 
space ;  no  one  could  give  any  news  of  him.  You  can 
imagine  the  vexation  that  my  grandmother  felt  at  Ben- 
jamin's sudden  disappearance.  She  said  to  herself  that 
he  did  not  deserve  the  trouble  that  they  took  to  secure 
his  happiness ;  that  his  indifference  was  incurable ;  that 
he  would  always  stagnate  there ;  that  he  was  a  marsh 
whose  waters  could  not  be  made  to  flow.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  felt  a  desire  to  abandon  him  to  his  destiny, 
and  even  to  no  more  plait  his  shirts ;  but  her  queenly 
character  came  uppermost;  she  had  begun,  and  she 
must  finish.  She  swore  that  she  would  find  Benjamin 
again  and  take  him  to  M.  Minxit's,  even  though  she 
had  to  fasten  him  to  the  tail  of  her  ass.  It  is  by  such 
firmness  of  resolution  that  great  enterprises  are  carried 
to  their  conclusion. 

A  little  peasant,  who  was  tending  his  sheep  at  the 
fork  of  the  two  roads,  told  her  that  the  red  man  whom 
she  had  lost  had  gone  down  toward  the  village  nearly  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before.  My  grandmother  urged  on 
her  ass  in  that  direction,  and  such  was  the  ascendency 
that  her  indignation  gave  her  over  this  quadruped  that 
he  began  to  trot  of  himself,  out  of  pure  deference  to  his 
rider,  as  if  he  desired  to  do  homage  to  her  grand  char- 
acter. 

The  village  of  Moulot  seemed  to  be  in  an  extraor- 
dinary commotion ;  the  Moulotats,  generally  so  ^  sedate 


72  MY  TJNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

and  in  whose  brains  there  was  never  more  fermentation 
than  in  a  cream  cheese,  seemed  all  to  be  in  transports. 
The  peasants  were  hurrying  down  from  the  neighboring 
hillsides;  the  women  and  children  were  running  and 
calling  each  other ;  all  spinning-wheels  were  abandoned, 
and  all  distaffs  at  rest.  My  grandmother  inquired  the 
cause  of  this  commotion.  They  told  her  that  the 
Wandering  Jew  had  just  arrived  at  Moulot,  and  was 
breakfasting  in  the  market-place.  She  understood  at 
once  that  this  pretended  Wandering  Jew  was  no  other 
than  Benjamin,  and,  indeed,  she  was  not  slow  in  per- 
ceiving him  from  the  height  of  her  ass,  in  the  middle  of 
a  circle  of  idle  bystanders. 

Above  this  moving  ribbon  of  black  and  white  heads, 
the  gable  of  his  three-cornered  hat  rose  with  great 
majesty,  like  the  slate-colored  steeple  of  a  church  amid 
the  moss-clad  roofs  of  a  village.  They  had  set  for  him 
in  the  market-place  itself  a  little  table  "where  he  had 
been  served  a  half-bottle  of  wine  and  a  little  loaf  of 
bread,  and  before  which  he  was  passing  to  and  fro  with 
the  gravity  of  a  great  sacrificer,  now  taking  a  swallow 
of  white  wine,  now  breaking  a  bit  from  his  little  loaf. 

My  grandmother  urged  her  ass  into  the  crowd  and 
soon  found  herself  in  the  front  rank. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  you  wretch?  "said  she 
to  my  uncle,  shaking  her  fist  at  him. 

"  You  see,  Madame,  I  wander ;  I  am  Ahasuerus, 
commonly  called  the  Wandering  Jew.  As  in  the 
course  of  my  travels  I  have  heard  much  said  of  the 
beauty  of  this  little  village  and  the  amiability  of  its 
inhabitants,  I  resolved  to  breakfast  here." 

Then,  approaching  her,  he  said  in  a  low  voice : 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  73 

"In  five  minutes  I  follow  you,  but  not  a  word  more, 
I  beg  of  you  ;  the  evil  might  be  irreparable ;  these  im- 
beciles would  be  capable  of  killing  me,  if  they  should 
discover  that  I  am  making  sport  of  them." 

The  eulogy  of  Moulot,  which  Benjamin  had  suc- 
ceeded in  interpolating  into  his  reply  to  his  sister,  re- 
paired or  rather  prevented  the  check  which  her  im- 
prudent rebuke  would  otherwise  have  caused  him  to 
suffer,  and  a  thrill  of  pride  ran  through  the  assembly. 

"  Monsieur  Wandering  Jew,"  said  a  peasant  in  whose 
mind  still  lingered  some  doubt,  "  who,  then,  is  this  lady 
who  just  now  shook  her  fist  at  you  ?  " 

"My  good  friend,"  answered  my  uncle,  not  at  all 
disconcerted,  "  she  is  the  Holy  Virgin,  whom  God  has 
ordered  me  to  escort  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem  on 
that  little  ass.  She  is  really  a  good  woman,  but  a  little 
talkative  ;  she  is  ill-humored  this  morning  because  she 
has  lost  her  rosary." 

"  And  why  is  not  the  infant  Jesus  with  her  ?  " 

"  God  did  not  wish  her  to  take  him  along,  because 
just  now  he  has  the  small-pox." 

Then  the  objections  fell  upon  Benjamin  as  thick  as 
hail ;  but  my  uncle  was  not  a  man  to  be  frightened  by 
the  dolts  of  Moulot ;  danger  electrified  him,  and  he 
parried  with  admirable  dexterity  all  the  thrusts  that 
were  made  at  him,  which  did  not  prevent  him  from  now 
and  then  wetting  his  whistle  with  a  swallow  of  white 
wine,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  was  already  at  his 
seventh  half-bottle. 

The  village  schoolmaster,  as  the  learned  man  of  the 
neighborhood,  was  the  first  to  enter  the  lists. 

"How  does  it  happen,   then,  Monsieur  Wandering 


74  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

Jew,  that  you  have  no  beard  ?  It  is  said  in  the  Brus- 
sels lament  that  you  are  heavily  bearded,  and  every- 
where you  are  represented  with  a  great  white  beard 
which  reaches  down  to  your  girdle." 

"  It  soiled  too  easily,  Monsieur  schoolmaster.  I 
asked  the  good  God's  permission  to  discard  that  great 
ugly  beard,  and  he  has  passed  it  into  my  cue." 

"  But,"  continued  the  teacher,  "how  do  you  manage 
to  shave,  since  you  cannot  stop  ?  " 

"  God  has  provided  for  that,  my  dear  Monsieur 
schoolmaster.  Every  morning  he  sends  me  the  patron 
of  the  barbers  in  the  shape  of  a  butterfly,  who  shaves 
me  with  the  edge  of  his  wing,  while  hovering  around 
me." 

"  But,  Monsieur  Jew,"  the  schoolmaster  continued, 
"  the  good  God  has  been  very  stingy  with  you  in  plac- 
ing at  your  disposition  only  five  sous  at  a  time." 

"  My  friend,"  rejoined  my  uncle,  crossing  his  arms 
over  his  breast  and  bowing  profoundly,  "let  us  bless 
the  decrees  of  God ;  it  is  probably  because  that  was  all 
the  money  he  had  in  his  pocket." 

"I  should  very  mu,ch  like  to  know,"  said  the  old 
tailor  of  the  neighborhood,  "how  they  succeeded  in 
taking  your  measure  for  your  coat, —  which,  by  the 
way,  fits  you  like  a  glove, —  since  you  are  never  at 
rest?" 

"  You  should  have  noticed,  you  who  are  of  the  trade, 
respectable  pique-prune,  that  this  coat  was  not  made  by 
the  hand  of  man ;  every  year,  on  the  first  of  April,  there 
grows  on  my  back  a  light  coat  of  red  serge,  and  on  All 
Saints'  Day  a  heavy  coat  of  red  velvet." 

"  Then,"  said  a  youngster,  over  whose  waggish  face 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  75 

hung  tresses  of  light  hair,  "you  must  wear  it  out  very 
fast ;  it  is  not  a  fortnight  now  since  All  Saints'  Day, 
and  your  coat  is  already  threadbare  and  white  along  the 
seams." 

Unfortunately  the  father  of  the  little  philosopher  was 
standing  beside  him.  "  Go  back  to  the  house  and  see 
if  I'm  there,"  he  said  to  him,  giving  him  a  kick ;  and 
he  begged  my  uncle  to  excuse  the  impertinence  of  this 
little  fellow,  whose  schoolmaster  neglected  to  teach  him 
his  religion. 

"  Gentlemen,"  cried  the  schoolmaster,  "  I  call  you  all 
to  witness,  and  Monsieur  Wandering  Jew  also,  that 
Nicolas  attacks  my  reputation;  he  continually  assails 
the  village  authorities ;  I  am  going  to  take  him  by  his 
tongue." 

"Yes,"  said  Nicolas,  "there's  a  fine  authority  for 
you;  attack  me  when  you  like;  I  shall  find  no  diffi- 
culty in  proving  the  truth  of  what  I  say;  the  bailiff 
shall  question  Chariot.  The  other  day  I  asked  him 
which  was  Jacob's  most  remarkable  son,  and  he  an- 
swered Pharaoh ;  mother  Pintot  is  my  witness." 

"  Oh !  gentlemen,"  said  my  uncle,  "  do  not  quarrel 
on  my  account ;  I  should  be  grieved  if  my  arrival  in 
this  beautiful  village  should  be  the  occasion  of  a  law- 
suit among  you ;  the  wool  of  my  coat  has  not  yet  fully 
grown,  as  we  are  now  only  at  St.  Martin's  Day ;  that  is 
what  led  little  Chariot  into  error.  Monsieur  school- 
master was  unaware  of  this  circumstance,  and  conse- 
quently could  not  teach  it  to  his  pupils ;  I  hope  that 
M.  Nicolas  is  satisfied  with  this  explanation." 


CHAPTER  V. 

MY   UNCLE   WORKS   A   MIRACLE. 

MY  uncle  was  about  to  break  up  the  meeting,  when 
he  noticed  a  pretty  peasant  girl  trying  to  make  a  pas- 
sage for  herself  through  the  crowd ;  as  he  loved  young 
girls  at  least  as  well  as  Jesus  Christ  loved  little  chil- 
dren, he  signalled  to  the  bystanders  to  allow  her  to 
approach. 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  know,"  said  the  young 
Moulotate  with  her  finest  bow,  the  bow  that  she  made  to 
the  bailiff  when,  going  to  carry  him  cream,  she  met  him 
on  her  way,  "  whether  what  old  Gothon  says  is  the  pure 
truth :  she  pretends  that  you  work  miracles." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  answered  my  uncle,  "  when  they  are 
not  too  difficult." 

"  In  that  case,  could  you  by  a  miracle  cure  my  father, 
who  has  been  sick  since  morning  with  a  disease  with 
which  nobody  is  familiar?" 

"Why  not?"  said  my  uncle;  "but  first  of  all,  my 
pretty  child,  you  must  permit  me  to  kiss  you ;  other- 
wise the  miracle  will  amount  to  nothing." 

And  he  kissed  the  young  Moulotate  on  both  cheeks, 
damned  sinner  that  he  was. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  in  his  rear  a  voice  which  he 
knew  well,  "  does  the  Wandering  Jew  kiss  women  ?  " 

He  turned  around  and  saw  Manette. 

"  Undoubtedly,  my  beautiful  lady :  God  permits  me 
to  kiss  three  a  year  ;  that  is  the  second  one  that  I  have 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN".  77 

kissed  this  year,   and,  if  you  like,  you   shall  be   the 
third." 

The  idea  of  working  a  miracle  fired  Benjamin's 
ambition ;  to  pass  himself  off  for  the  Wandering  Jew, 
even  at  Moulot,  was  much,  was  immense,  was  enough 
to  make  all  the  brilliant  wits  of  Clamecy  jealous.  He 
took  rank  immediately  among  the  famous  jokers,  and 
lawyer  Page  would  no  longer  dare  to  speak  to  him  so 
often  of  his  hare  changed  into  a  rabbit.  Who  would 
dare  to  compare  himself,  in  audacity  and  resources  of 
imagination,  with  Benjamin  Rathery,  when  once  he 
had  worked  a  miracle  ?  And  who  knows  ?  Perhaps 
the  future  generation  would  take  the  matter  seriously. 
If  he  were  to  be  canonized  ;  if  they  should  make  of  his 
person  a  big  saint  of  red  wood ;  if  they  should  give  him 
an  office,  a  niche,  a  place  in  the  almanac,  an  Ora  pro 
nobis  in  the  litanies;  if  he  should  become  the  patron 
saint  of  a  good  parish ;  if  every  year  they  should  cele- 
brate his  birthday  with  incense,  crown  him  with  flowers, 
decorate  him  with  ribbons,  and  place  a  ripe  grape  in 
his  hands;  if  they  should  enshrine  his  red  coat  in  a 
reliquary;  if  he  should  have  a  church-warden  to  wash 
his  face  every  week ;  if  he  should  cure  of  the  pest 
or  of  hydrophobia  !  The  only  thing  necessary  was  to 
carry  out  this  miracle  successfully ;  if  he  had  only  seen 
a  few  performed !  But  how  should  he  go  about  it  ? 
And  if  he  failed,  he  would  be  scoffed  at,  jeered,  vilified, 
possibly  beaten;  he  would  lose  all  the  glory  of  the 
hoax  so  well  begun.  ..."  Oh !  nonsense  ! "  said  my 
uncle,  pouring  a  large  glass  of  wine  for  inspiration, 
"  Providence  will  provide :  Audaces  fortuna  juvat,  and 
besides,  a  miracle  asked  for  is  a  miracle  half  performed." 


78  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

So  lie  followed  the  young  peasant  girl,  dragging  in 
his  train,  like  a  comet,  a  long  tail  of  Moulotats ;  having 
entered  the  house,  he  saw  lying  on  the  bed  a  peasant 
with  his  mouth  askew,  who  seemed  to  be  trying  to  eat 
his  ear;  he  inquired  how  this  accident  had  happened, 
and  whether  it  was  not  the  result  of  a  yawn  or  an  out- 
burst of  laughter. 

"It  happened  this  morning  at  breakfast,"  answered 
his  wife,  "  as  he  was  trying  to  break  a  walnut  with  his 
teeth." 

"  Very  well,"  said  my  uncle,  his  face  lighting  up, 
"and  did  you  call  anybody?" 

"  We  sent  for  M.  Arnout,  who  declared  that  it  was  an 
attack  of  paralysis." 

"  You  could  not  have  done  better.  I  see  that  Doctor 
Arnout  knows  paralysis  as  well  as  if  he  had  invented 
it ;  and  what  did  he  prescribe  ?  " 

"  The  medicine  in  this  vial." 

My  uncle,  having  examined  the  drug,  saw  that  it  was 
an  emetic,  and  threw  the  vial  into  the  street.  His  as- 
surance produced  an  excellent  effect. 

"  I  see  clearly,  Monsieur  Jew,"  said  the  good  woman, 
"  that  you  are  capable  of  performing  the  miracle  that 
we  ask  of  you." 

"  Of  such  miracles  as  this,"  answered  Benjamin,  "  I 
could  work  a  hundred  a  day,  if  I  were  supplied  with 
them." 

He  had  them  bring  him  an  iron  spoon,  the  handle 
of  which  he  wound  with  several  thicknesses  of  fine 
linen ;  he  introduced  this  improvised  instrument  into 
the  patient's  mouth,  raised  the  upper  jaw,  which  was 
protruding  over  the  lower  jaw,  and  put  it  back  in  its 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  79 

place  ;  for  the  only  disease  from  which  this  Moulotat 
suffered  was  a  dislocated  jaw,  which  my  uncle,  with  his 
gray  eye  that  penetrated  everything,  as  if  it  were  a  nail, 
had  perceived  at  once.  The  paralytic  of  the  morning 
declared  that  he  was  completely  cured,  and  he  began 
to  eat  ravenously  of  a  cabbage  soup  prepared  for  the 
family  dinner. 

The  report  spread  among  the  crowd  with  the  rapidity 
of  lightning  that  father  Pintot  was  eating  cabbage 
soup.  The  sick  and  all  those  whose  forms  nature  had 
more  or  less  altered  implored  my  uncle's  protection. 
Mother  Pintot,  very  proud  to  think  that  the  miracle 
had  been  performed  in  her  family,  introduced  to  my 
uncle  one  of  her  cousins  who  had  a  left  shoulder  that 
looked  like  a  ham,  and  asked  him  to  reduce  it ;  but  my 
uncle,  who  did  not  wish  to  compromise  his  reputation, 
answered  that  the  best  that  he  could  do  would  be  to 
pass  the  hump  from  the  left  shoulder  to  the  right ;  that 
moreover  it  was  a  very  painful  miracle,  and  that  out  of 
ten  hump-backs  of  the  common  sort  he  had  scarcely 
found  two  who  had  had  the  strength  to  endure  it. 

Then  he  declared  to  the  inhabitants  of  Moulot  that 
he  was  grieved  that  he  could  not  stay  with  them  longer, 
but  that  he  did  not  dare  to  keep  the  Holy  Virgin  wait- 
ing ;  and  he  went  to  join  his  sister,  who  was  warming 
her  feet  in  the  village  tavern  and  had  had  time  to  have 
the  ass  fed. 

My  uncle  and  my  grandmother  had  the  greatest  dif- 
ficulty in  the  world  in  getting  rid  of  the  crowd,  and  the 
village  bell  was  rung  as  long  as  they  were  in  sight. 
My  grandmother  did  not  scold  Benjamin ;  after  all,  she 
was  more  pleased  than  vexed ;  the  way  in  which  Benja- 


80  MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

min  had  extricated  himself  from  this  difficult  situation 
flattered  her  pride  as  a  sister,  and  she  said  that  a  man 
like  Benjamin  was  well  worth  Mile.  Minxit,  even  with 
an  income  of  two  or  three  thousand  francs  thrown  in. 

The  description  of  the  Wandering  Jew  and  the  Holy 
Virgin,  and  even  that  of  the  ass,  had  already  reached 
La  Chapelle.  When  they  entered  the  town,  the  women 
were  kneeling  in  their  doorways,  and  Benjamin,  who 
always  knew  what  to  do,  gave  them  his  blessing. 


CHAPTER  VL 

MON8IEUK    MINXIT. 

MONSIEUR  MINXIT  extended  a  very  cordial  welcome 
to  my  uncle  and  my  grandmother.  M.  Minxit  was  a 
doctor,  I  know  not  why.  He  had  not  spent  the  beauti- 
ful days  of  his  youth  in  the  society  of  corpses.  The 
science  of  medicine  had  sprouted  in  his  head  one  fine 
day,  like  a  mushroom:  if  he  knew  medicine,  it  was 
because  he  had  invented  it.  His  parents  had  never 
dreamed  of  giving  him  a  liberal  education;  all  the 
Latin  he  knew  was  on  his  bottles,  and  even  there,  if  he 
had  depended  on  the  labels,  he  would  often  have  given 
parsley  for  hemlock.  He  had  a  very  fine  library,  but 
he  never  poked  his  nose  into  his  books.  He  said  that, 
since  his  books  were  written,  the  temperament  of  man 
had  changed.  Some  even  pretended  that  all  these 
precious  works  were  only  imitations  of  books  made  out 
of  pasteboard,  on  the  backs  of  which  he  had  placed  in 
gilt  letters  names  celebrated  in  medicine.  What  con- 
firmed them  in  this  opinion  was  that,  whenever  any 
one  asked  M.  Minxit  to  let  him  see  his  library,  he  had 
lost  the  key.  However,  M.  Minxit  was  a  man  of  wit, 
he  was  endowed  with  a  large  share  of  intelligence,  and, 
in  default  of  printed  knowledge,  he  had  much  knowl- 
edge of  e very-day  life.  As  he  knew  nothing,  he  under- 
stood that  to  succeed  he  must  persuade  the  multitude 
that  he  knew  more  than  his  rivals,  and  he  made  a  spe- 
cialty of  the  divination  of  urines.  After  twenty  years' 


82  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

study  of  this  science,  lie  had  succeeded  in  distinguish- 
ing those  that  were  turbid  from  those  that  were  clear, 
which  did  not  prevent  him  from  telling  every  one  who 
came  to  him  that  he  could  tell  a  great  man,  a  king,  or  a 
cabinet  minister,  by  his  urine.  As  there  were  no  kings, 
or  cabinet  ministers,  or  great  men,  in  the  vicinity,  he 
did  not  fear  that  any  one  would  take  him  at  his  word. 
M.  Minxit  had  an  incisive  manner.  He  talked  loud, 
a  great  deal,  and  incessantly;  he  divined  those  words 
which  are  likely  to  have  an  effect  on  peasants  and  knew 
how  to  make  them  prominent  in  his  phrases.  He  had 
the  faculty  of  deceiving  the  multitude,  a  faculty  which 
consists  of  I  know  not  what  impalpable  quality,  impos- 
sible to  describe,  teach,  or  counterfeit ;  an  inexplicable 
faculty  by  which  a  simple  operator  Causes  a  shower  of 
pennies  to  fall  into  his  cash-box,  and  by  which  the  great 
man  wins  battles  and  founds  empires ;  a  faculty  which 
in  some  has  taken  the  place  of  genius,  which  Napoleon 
of  all  men  possessed  in  a  supreme  degree,  and  which  in 
all  cases  I  call  simply  charlatanism.  It  is  not  my  fault 
if  the  instrument  with  which  they  sell  Swiss  tea  is  the 
same  as  that  with  which  they  build  a  throne.  Through- 
out the  neighborhood  no  one  was  willing  to  die  except 
by  the  hand  of  M.  Minxit.  The  latter,  however,  did 
not  abuse  this  privilege ;  he  was  no  more  of  a  murderer 
than  his  rivals,  only  he  made  more  money  with  his  vials 
of  many  colors  than  they  did  with  their  aphorisms.  He 
had  acquired  a  very  handsome  fortune,  and  had,  more- 
over, the  faculty  of  spending  his  money  to  the  purpose  ; 
he  seemed  to  give  everything  as  if  it  had  cost  him 
nothing,  and  the  clients  that  came  to  him  always  found 
open  table  at  his  house. 


MY  TTNCLE  BENJAMIN.  83 

For  the  rest  my  uncle  and  M.  Minxit  were  bound  to 
be  friends  as  soon  as  they  should  meet.  These  two 
natures  resembled  each  other  exactly;  they  were  as 
near  alike  as  two  drops  of  wine  or,  to  use  an  expression 
less  offensive  to  my  uncle,  as  two  spoons  cast  in  the 
same  mould.  They  had  the  same  appetites,  the  same 
tastes,  the  same  passions,  the  same  way  of  looking  at 
things,  the  same  political  opinions.  Both  concerned 
themselves  little  about  those  thousand  little  accidents, 
those  thousand  microscopic  catastrophes,  which  the  rest 
of  us,  fools  that  we  are,  consider  as  great  misfortunes. 
^  He  who  has  no  philosophy  amid  the  miseries  of  this 
world  is  like  a  man  bareheaded  in  a  shower.  The  phi- 
losopher, on  the  contrary,  has  over  his  head  a  good  um- 
brella, which  shelters  him  from  the  storm.  Such  was 
their  opinion.  They  regarded  life  as  a  farce,  and  they 
played  their  parts  in  it  as  gayly  as  possible.  They  had 
a  sovereign  contempt  for  those  ill-advised  people  who 
make  their  life  one  long  sob.  They  wished  theirs  to 
be  a  fit  of  laughter.  Age  had  produced  no  difference 
between  them,  beyond  a  few  wrinkles.  They  were  like 
two  trees  of  the  same  species,  one  of  which  is  old  and 
the  other  in  the  full  vigor  of  its  sap,  but  both  of  which 
are  adorned  with  the  same  flowers  and  bear  the  same 
fruits.  Consequently  the  future  father-in-law  had 
formed  a  prodigious  friendship  for  his  son-in-law,  and 
the  son-in-law  professed  for  the  father-in-law  a  high 
esteem,  barring  his  vials.  Nevertheless  my  uncle  ac- 
cepted M.  Minxit's  alliance  only  in  self-defence,  by  an 
effort  of  reason  and  that  he  might  not  displease  his  dear 
sister. 

M.  Minxit,  because  he  loved  Benjamin,  found  it  very 


84  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

natural  that  he  should  be  loved  by  his  daughter.  For 
every  father,  however  good  he  may  be,  loves  himself  in 
the  person  of  his  children ;  he  regards  them  as  beings 
who  ought  to  contribute  to  his  comfort ;  if  he  chooses 
a  son-in-law,  he  does  so  first  largely  for  himself,  and 
then  a  little  for  his  daughter.  When  he  is  avaricious, 
he  puts  her  into  the  hands  of  a  miser ;  when  he  is  a 
noble,  he  welds  her  to  an  escutcheon ;  if  he  is  fond 
of  chess,  he  gives  her  to  a  chess-player,  for  he  must 
have  some  one  to  play  with  him  in  his  old  age.  His 
daughter  is  an  undivided  property  which  he  possesses 
with  his  wife.  Whether  the  property  is  enclosed  by  a 
flowering  hedge  or  by  a  great  ugly  wall  built  of  dry 
stones,  whether  it  is  made  to  produce  roses  or  rape- 
seed,  that  does  not  concern  her.  She  has  no  advice  to 
give  to  the  experienced  agriculturist  who  cultivates 
her.  She  is  unskilled  in  selecting  the  seed  best  suited 
to  her.  Provided  these  good  parents  in  their  soul  and 
conscience  find  their  daughter  happy,  that  is  enough. 
It  is  for  her  to  accommodate  herself  to  her  condition. 
Every  night  the  wife  when  making  her  curl  papers  and 
the  good  man  when  putting  on  his  nightcap  congratu- 
late themselves  on  having  married  their  child  so  well. 
She  does  not  love  her  husband,  but  she  will  accustom 
herself  to  love  him :  with  patience  one  can  accomplish 
anything.  They  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  a  woman 
to  have  a  husband  that  she  does  not  love.  It  is  like  a 
burning  cinder  that  cannot  be  expelled  from  the  eye, 
or  a  toothache  that  does  not  give  one  a  moment's  rest. 
Some  allow  themselves  to  die  in  pain ;  others  go  else- 
where in  search  of  the  love  which  they  cannot  procure 
with  the  corpse  to  which  they  have  been  attached. 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  85 

The  latter  gently  slip  into  their  fortunate  husband's 
soup  a  pinch  of  arsenic,  and  have  it  inscribed  upon  his 
tombstone  that  he  leaves  an  inconsolable  widow.  Such 
is  the  result  of  the  pretended  infallibility  and  the  dis- 
guised egoism  of  the  good  parents. 

If  a  young  girl  wanted  to  marry  a  monkey  who  had 
been  naturalized  as  a  man  and  a  Frenchman,  the  father 
and  mother  would  not  willingly  consent,  and  it  cer- 
tainly would  be  necessary  for  the  jocko  to  serve  on 
them  the  required  legal  papers.  You  say :  Those  are 
good  parents ;  they  do  not  wish  their  daughter  to  make 
herself  unhappy.  But  I  say :  Those  are  detestable 
egoists.  Nothing  is  more  ridiculous  than  to  put  your 
way  of  feeling  in  the  place  of  another's:  it  is  like  try- 
ing to  substitute  your  organization  for  his.  Such  a 
man  wishes  to  die ;  he  probably  has  good  reasons  for 
that.  This  young  girl  wishes  to  marry  a  monkey; 
she  probably  prefers  a  monkey  to  a  man.  Why  refuse 
her  the  faculty  of  being  happy  in  her  own  way  ?  If  she 
thinks  herself  happy,  who  has  a  right  to  maintain 
that  she  is  not?  This  monkey  will  scratch  her  in 
caressing  her.  What's  that  to  you  ?  She  probably 
would  rather  be  scratched  than  caressed.  Besides,  if 
her  husband  scratches  her,  it  is  not  her  mamma's  cheek 
that  will  bleed.  Who  disapproves  the  dragon-fly  of 
the  marshes  for  hovering  over  the  reeds  rather  than 
among  the  garden  rose-bushes?  Does  the  pike  re- 
proach the  eel,  its  god-mother,  for  staying  continually 
in  the  mud  at  the  bottom,  instead  of  rising  to  the  flow- 
ing water  which  ripples  at  the  surface  of  the  river  ? 

Do  you  know  why  these  good  parents  refuse  their 
blessing  to  their  daughter  and  her  jocko  ?  The  father 


86  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

refuses  because  he  desires  a  son-in-law  who  can  be  a 
voter,  and  with  whom  he  can  talk  literature  or  politics ; 
the  mother  refuses  because  she  needs  a  handsome  young 
man  to  give  her  his  arm,  take  her  to  the  play,  and  go  to 
walk  with  her. 

M.  Minxit,  after  having  uncorked  some  of  his  best 
bottles  with  Benjamin,  took  him  into  his  house,  into 
his  cellar,  into  his  barn,  into  his  stables ;  he  walked 
him  through  his  garden,  and  forced  him  to  make  the 
circuit  of  a  large  meadow  watered  by  a  living  spring 
and  'planted  with  trees,  which  stretched  away  in  the 
rear  of  the  house  and  at  the  end  of  which  the  stream 
formed  a  fish-pond.  All  this  was  very  desirable;  un- 
happily fortune  gives  nothing  for  nothing,  and  in  ex- 
change for  all  this  comfort  it  was  necessary  to  marry 
Mile.  Minxit. 

After  all,  Mile.  Minxit  was  as  good  as  another ;  she 
was  only  two  inches  too  tall ;  she  was  neither  dark  nor 
light,  nor  blonde  nor  red,  nor  stupid  nor  witty.  She  was 
a  woman  like  twenty-five  out  of  every  thirty.  She  knew 
how  to  talk  very  pertinently  of  a  thousand  insignificant 
little  things,  and  she  made  very  good  cream  cheeses. 
It  was  much  less  against  her  than  against  marriage 
in  general  that  my  uncle  rebelled,  and  if  at  the  very 
first  she  had  displeased  him,  it  was  because  he  had 
regarded  her  in  the  form  of  a  heavy  chain. 

"  There  is  my  estate,"  said  M.  Minxit ;  "  when  you 
shall  be  my  son-in-law,  it  will  be  ours,  and  indeed, 
when  I  am  no  longer  here  "... 

"  Let  us  understand  each  other,"  said  my  uncle,  "  are 
you  very  sure  that  Mile.  Arabelle  is  not  at  all  reluctant 
to  marry  me  ?  " 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  87 

"  And  why  should  she  be  ?  You  do  not  do  justice  to 
yourself,  Benjamin.  Are  you  not  the  handsomest  of 
young  fellows,  are  you  not  amiable  when  you  like  and 
as  much  as  you  like,  and  are  you  not  a  man  of  wit  in 
the  bargain?" 

"  There  is  some  truth  in  what  you  say,  M.  Minxit, 
but  women  are  capricious,  and  I  have  allowed  myself  to 
say  that  Mile.  Arabelle  had  an  inclination  for  a  gentle- 
man of  this  neighborhood,  a  certain  de  Pont-CasseV' 

"  A  country  squire,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "  a  sort  of  mus- 
keteer who  has  squandered  on  fine  horses  and  embroid- 
ered coats  the  fine  domains  that  his  father  left  him. 
He  has,  in  truth,  asked  me  for  Arabelle,  but  I  rejected 
his  proposal  most  decidedly.  In  less  than  two  years  he 
would  have  devoured  my  fortune.  You  can  see  that  I 
could  not  give  my  daughter  to  such  a  being.  Besides, 
he  is  a  furious  duellist.  By  way  of  compensation,  one 
of  these  days  he  would  have  rid  Arabelle  of  his  noble 
person." 

"  You  are  right,  M.  Minxit,  but  then,  if  this  being  is 
loved  by  Arabelle  "... 

"Nonsense,  Benjamin!  Arabelle  has  in  her  veins 
too  much  of  my  blood  to  be  smitten  with  a  viscount. 
What  I  need  is  a  child  of  the  people,  a  man  like  you, 
Benjamin,  with  whom  I  can  laugh,  drink,  and  philoso- 
phize ;  a  shrewd  physician  to  exploit  my  clients  with 
me  and  to  supply  by  his  science  what  the  divination  of 
urines  may  fail  to  reveal  to  us." 

"  One  moment,"  said  my  uncle,  "  I  warn  you,  Mon- 
sieur Minxit,  that  I  will  not  consult  urines." 

"And  why,  Monsieur,  do  you  not  wish  to  consult 
urines  ?  Come,  Benjamin,  he  was  a  very  sensible  man, 


88  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

that  emperor  who  said  to  his  son :  '  Do  these  gold  pieces 
smell  of  urine  ? '  If  you  knew  how  much  presence  of 
mind,  imagination,  perspicacity,  and  even  logic  are 
required  for  the  consultation  of  urines,  you  would  not 
want  to  follow  any  other  profession  all  your  life  long ; 
perhaps  you  will  be  called  a  charlatan,  but  what  is  a 
charlatan  ?  A  man  who  has  more  wit  than  the  multi- 
tude ;  and  I  ask  you,  is  it  from  lack  of  desire  or  lack 
of  wit  that  most  doctors  do  not  impose  upon  their 
patients  ?  Stay,  there  comes  my  fifer,  probably  to  an- 
nounce the  arrival  of  some  vial.  I  am  going  to  give 
you  a  sample  of  my  art." 

"Well,  fifer,"  said  M.  Minxit  to  the  musician, 
"what's  new?" 

"  A  peasant  has  come  to  consult  you,"  he  answered. 

"  And  has  Arabelle  made  him  talk  ?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  Minxit;  he  brings  you  his  wife's 
urine,  she  having  fallen  on  a  flight  of  steps  and  rolled 
down  four  or  five  of  them.  Mile.  Arabelle  doesn't 
remember  the  exact  number." 

"  The  devil !  "  said  M.  Minxit,  "  that  is  very  stupid 
on  Arabelle's  part;  all  the  same,  I  will  remedy  that. 
Benjamin,  go  wait  for  me  in  the  kitchen  with  the 
peasant ;  you  shall  know  what  a  doctor  who  consults 
urines  is." 

M.  Minxit  entered  his  house  through  the  little  garden 
door,  and  five  minutes  afterward  came  into  the  kitchen 
with  an  harassed  and  over-fatigued  air,  holding  a  riding- 
whip  in  his  hand  and  wearing  a  cloak  splashed  up  to 
the  collar. 

"  Oh ! "  said  he,  throwing  himself  upon  a  chair, 
"  what  abominable  roads !  I  am  worn  out ;  I  have  trav- 


MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  89 

elled  more  than  fifteen  leagues  this  morning ;  take  off 
my  boots  immediately  and  warm  my  bed." 

"  Monsieur  Minxit,  I  beg  of  you !  "  said  the  peasant, 
presenting  his  vial. 

"  To  the  devil,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "  with  your  vial ; 
you  see  well  enough  that  I  can  do  no  more.  That's 
just  like  you  all ;  you  always  come  to  consult  me  just  as 
I  come  in  from  the  country." 

"My  father,"  said  Arabelle,  "this  man  too  is  tired; 
do  not  force  him  to  corne  again  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  let  me  see  the  vial  then,"  said  M.  Minxit, 
with  an  air  of  extreme  vexation ;  and  approaching  the 
window,  he  added :  "  This  is  your  wife's  urine,  isn't 
it?" 

"  You  are  right,  Monsieur  Minxit,"  said  the  peasant. 

"  She  has  had  a  fall,"  added  the  doctor,  examining  the 
vial  again. 

"  You  could  not  have  divined  more  accurately." 

"  On  a  flight  of  steps,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  are  a  sorcerer,  Monsieur  Minxit." 

"  And  she  rolled  down  four  of  them." 

"This  time  you  are  wrong,  Monsieur  Minxit;  she 
rolled  down  five." 

"  Nonsense,  it  is  impossible ;  go  count  your  flight  of 
steps  again,  and  you  will  see  that  there  are  only  four 
in  all." 

"  I  assure  you,  Monsieur,  that  there  are  five,  and  that 
she  did  not  miss  a  single  one." 

"It  is  astonishing,"  said  M.  Minxit,  examining  the 
vial  again ;  "  there  certainly  are  but  four  steps  in  this. 
By  the  way,  did  you  bring  me  all  the  urine  that  your 
wife  gave  you  ?  " 


90  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  I  threw  a  little  on  the  ground,  because  the  vial  was 
too  full." 

"I  am  no  longer  surprised  that  I  d:d  not  find  the  full 
number;  that  is  the  cause  of  the  deficit:  it  was  the 
fifth  step  that  you  poured  out,  you  stupid  fellow !  So 
ws  will  treat  your  wife  as  having  rolled  down  a  flight 
of  five  steps." 

And  he  gave  the  peasant  five  or  six  little  packages 
and  as  many  vials,  all  labelled  in  Latin. 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  said  my  uncle,  "  that  you 
would  first  have  practised  an  abundant  bleeding." 

"  If  it  had  been  a  fall  from  a  horse,  a  fall  from  a  tree, 
or  a  fall  in  the  road,  yes ;  but  a  fall  on  a  flight  of  steps 
should  always  be  treated  in  this  way." 

After  the  peasant  came  a  young  girl. 

"  Well !  how  is  your  mother? "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Much  better,  Monsieur  Miuxit ;  but  she  cannot  re- 
gain her  strength,  and  I  came  to  ask  you  what  she 
should  do." 

"  You  ask  me  what  she  must  do,  and  I  will  bet  that 
you  haven't  a  sou  with  which  to  buy  medicines  !  " 

"  Alas  !  no,  my  good  Monsieur  Minxit,  for  my  father 
has  had  no  work  for  a  week." 

"  Then  why  the  devil  does  your  mother  take  it  into 
her  head  to  be  sick  ?  " 

"  Rest  easy,  Monsieur  Minxit ;  as  soon  as  my  father 
gets  work,  you  will  be  paid  for  your  visits ;  he  charged 
me  to  tell  you  so." 

"  Indeed !  more  nonsense !  Is  your  father  mad  that 
he  expects  to  pay  me  for  my  visits  when  he  has  no 
bread  ?  For  what  does  your  imbecile  of  a  father  take 
me  ?  You  will  go  this  evening  with  your  ass  to  get 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  91 

a  sack  of  wheat  at  my  mill,  and  you  will  carry  away 
with  you  from  here  a  basket  of  old  wine  and  a  quarter 
of  mutton ;  that  is  what  your  mother  immediately  needs. 
If  her  strength  does  not  return  within  two  or  three 
days,  you  will  let  me  know.  Now  go,  my  child." 

"  Well !  "  said  M.  Minxit  to  Benjamin,  "  what  do  you 
think  of  the  practice  of  medicine  by  the  consultation  of 
urines  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  brave  and  worthy  man,  Monsieur  Minxit ; 
that  is  your  excuse ;  but,  the  devil !  you  will  never  get 
me  to  treat  a  patient  who  has  fallen  down  stairs  other- 
wise than  by  bleeding." 

"  Then  you  are  only  a  raw  recruit  in  medicine ;  are 
you  not  aware  that  peasants  must  have  drugs  ?  Other- 
wise they  think  that  yon  are  neglecting  them.  Well, 
then,  you  shall  not  consult  urines ;  but  it's  a  pity,  for 
you  would  have  been  a  famous  hand  at  it." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TABLE     TALK     AT     M. 


THE  dinner-hour  arrived.  Although  M.  Minxit  had 
invited  but  a  few  persons  besides  those  known  to  us,  — 
the  priest,  the  tabellion,  and  one  of  his  confreres  in  the 
neighborhood,  —  the  table  was  loaded  down  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  ducks  and  chickens,  some  lying  in  stately  in- 
tegrity in  the  midst  of  their  sauce,  others  symmetrically 
spreading  their  disjointed  members  on  the  ellipsis  of 
their  platter.  The  wine,  for  the  rest,  was  from  a  certain 
hillside  of  Trucy,  whose  vines,  in  spite  of  the  levelling 
which  has  passed  over  our  vineyards  as  over  our  society, 
have  maintained  their  aristocracy,  and  still  enjoy  a  de- 
served reputation. 

"  But,"  said  my  uncle  to  M.  Minxit,  at  sight  of  this 
Homeric  abundance,  "you  have  a  whole  poultry-yard 
here.  There  is  enough  to  satisfy  a  company  of  dragoons 
after  field-day  exercises.  Or  perhaps  you  expect  our 
friend  Arthus?" 

"In  that  case  I  would  have  spitted  one  fowl  more," 
answered  M.  Minxit,  laughing.  "But  if  we  do  not  suc- 
ceed in  disposing  of  all  this,  it  will  be  easy  to  find 
people  to  finish  our  task  ;  and  my  officers,  —  that  is,  my 
musicians,  —  and  the  clients  who  will  come  to  me  to- 
morrow with  their  vials,  have  I  not  to  think  of  them  ? 
I  adopt  it  as  a  principle  that  he  who  has  dinner  prepared 
only  for  himself  is  not  fit  to  dine." 

"  It  is  just,"  replied  my  uncle.     And  after  this  phil- 


MY  TJNCLE  BENJAMIN.  93 

osophical   reflection,  he   began  to   attack   M.  Minxit's 
chickens  as  if  he  had  a  personal  spite  against  them. 

The  guests  were  suited  to  each  other.  For  that  mat- 
ter, my  uncle  was  suited  to  everybody,  and  everybody 
was  suited  to -him.  ^They  enjoyed  frankly  and  very 
noisily  M.  Minxit's  copious  hospitality.  "  Fifer,"  said 
the  latter  to  one  of  the  table-waiters,  "bring  in  the 
Burgundy,  and  tell  the  musicians  to  come  hither  with 
arms  and  baggage  ;  those  who  are  drunk  are  not  ex- 
empt." The  musicians  came  in  at  once  and  arranged 
themselves  around  the  room.  M.  Minxit,  having  un- 
corked a  few  bottles  of  Burgundy,  solemnly  lifted  his 
full  glass,  and  said :  "  Gentlemen,  to  the  health  of  M. 
Benjamin  Rathery,  the  first  doctor  of  the  bailiwick ;  I 
present  him  to  you  as  my  son-in-law,  and  pray  you  to 
love  him  as  you  love  me.  Let  the  music  play."  Then 
an  infernal  noise  of  bass  drum,  triangle,  cymbals,  and 
clarinette  burst  forth  in  the  dining  room,  and  my  uncle 
was  obliged  to  ask  mercy  for  the  guests.  This  an- 
nouncement, a  little  too  official  and  premature,  caused 
Mile.  Minxit  to  sulk  and  make  wry  faces.  Benjunin, 
who  had  something  else  to  do  than  criticise  what  was 
going  on  around  him,  noticed  nothing ;  but  this  mark 
of  repugnance  did  not  escape  my  grandmother.  Her 
pride  was  deeply  wounded ;  for,  if  Benjamin  was  not  to 
everybody  the  handsomest  young  fellow  in  the  country, 
he  was  such  at  least  to  his  sister.  After  having  thanked 
M.  Minxit  for  the  honor  that  he  did  her  brother,  she 
added,  biting  each  syllable  as  if  she  had  the  poor  Ara- 
belle  between  her  teeth,  that  the  principal,  the  only 
reason  that  had  determined  Benjamin  to  solicit  M. 
Minxit's  alliance  was  the  lofty  consideration  enjoyed 
by  M.  Minxit  in  all  the  country  round. 


94  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

Benjamin,  thinking  that  his  sister  had  made  a  mess 
of  it,  hastened  to  add:  "And  also  the  graces  and 
charms  of  every  sort  with  which  Mile.  Arabelle  is  so 
abundantly  provided,  and  which  promise  to  the  happy 
mortal  who  shall  be  her  husband  days  spun  of  gold  and 
silk."  Then,  as  if  to  quiet  the  remorse  which  this  sad 
compliment  caused  him, —  the  only  one  that  he  had  yet 
expended  on  Mile.  Minxit  and  which  his  sister  had 
obliged  him  to  commit, —  he  began  to  furiously  devour  a 
chicken's  wing,  and  emptied  a  huge  glass  of  Burgundy 
at  one  swallow. 

There  were  three  doctors  present ;  they  were  bound 
to  talk  medicine,  and  they  did. 

"You  said  just  now,  M.  Minxit,"  said  Fata,  "that 
your  son-in-law  was  the  first  doctor  of  the  bailiwick. 
I  do  not  protest  in  my  own  behalf, —  although  I  have 
made  certain  cures ;  but  what  do  you  think  of  Doctor 
Arnout,  of  Clamecy  ?  " 

"Ask  Benjamin,"  said  M.  Minxit;  "he  knows  him 
better  than  I  do." 

"  Oh,  M.  Minxit,"  answered  my  uncle,  "  a  rival !  " 

"  What  difference  does  that  make  ?  You  do  not  need 
to  depreciate  your  rivals,  do  you  ?  Tell  us  what  you 
think  of  him,  just  to  oblige  Fata." 

"  Since  you  insist,  I  think  that  Doctor  Arnout  wears 
a  superb  wig." 

"  And  why,"  said  Fata,  "  is  not  a  doctor  who  wears 
a  wig  as  good  as  a  doctor  who  wears  a  cue  ?  " 

"  The  question  is  the  more  delicate  because  you  your- 
self wear  a  wig,  Monsieur  Fata.  But  I  will  try  to 
explain  myself  without  wounding  the  pride  of  anyone 
whomsoever.  Here  is  a  doctor  who  has  his  head  full  of 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  95 

knowledge,  who  has  ransacked  all  the  old  medical 
books  ever  written,  who  knows  from  what  Greek 
words  come  the  five  or  six  hundred  diseases  that  afflict 
our  poor  humanity.  Well,  if  he  has  only  a  limited  in- 
telligence, I  would  not  like  to  trust  him  to  cure  my 
little  finger ;  I  would  give  the  preference  to  an  intelli- 
gent mountebank,  for  his  science  is  a  lantern  that  is  not 
lighted.  It  has  been  said:  The  value  of  the  man 
measures  the  value  of  his  land;  it  would  be  quite 
as  true  to  say :  The  value  of  the  man  measures  the 
value  of  his  knowledge ;  and  that  is  especially  true  of 
medicine,  which  is  a  conjectural  scieoce.  There  one 
must  divine  causes  by  equivocal  and  uncertain  effects. 
The  pulse  that  is  dumb  under  the  finger  of  a  fool  con- 
fides marvellous  secrets  to  the  man  of  wit.  Two  things 
above  all  are  necessary  to  success  in  medicine,  and  these 
two  things  are  not  to  be  acquired  :  they  are  perspicacity 
and  intelligence." 

"  You  forget,"  said  M.  Minxit,  laughing,  "  the  cym- 
bals and  the  bass  drum." 

"  Oh,"  said  Benjamin,  "  speaking  of  your  bass  drum, 
I  have  an  excellent  idea ;  does  there  happen  to  be  a 
vacancy  in  your  orchestra  ?  " 

"  For  whom  ?  "  said  M.  Minxit. 

"  For  an  old  sergeant  of  my  acquaintance  and  a 
poodle,"  answered  Benjamin. 

"  And  on  what  instrument  can  your  two  protSgSs 
play?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Benjamin ;  "  probably  on  any 
instrument  you  like." 

"  At  any  rate  we  can  have  your  old  sergeant  groom 
my  four  horses  until  my  music-master  has  familiarized 


96  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

him  with  some  instrument  or  other,  or  else  he  shall 
pound  my  drugs." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  my  uncle,  "  we  can  use  him  to 
still  better  advantage ;  he  has  a  face  as  brown  as  a 
chicken  just  from  the  spit;  one  would  think  that  he 
had  spent  his  whole  life  in  simply  crossing  and  recross- 
ing  the  equator ;  you  would  take  him  for  the  good  mail 
Tropic  in  person ;  besides,  he  is  as  dry  as  an  old  burnt 
bone :  we  will  give  it  out  that  from  his  body  we  ex- 
tracted the  grease  of  which  we  make  our  pomatum: 
that  will  sell  better  than  bear's  grease ;  or  else  we  will 
pass  him  off  for  an  old  Nubian  of  one  hundred  and 
forty  years,  who  has  prolonged  his  days  to  this  extraor- 
dinary age  by  the  use  of  an  elixir  of  long  life,  the 
secret  of  which  he  has  transmitted  to  us  in  considera- 
tion of  a  life  pension.  Now,  we  will  sell  this  precious 
elixir  for  the  mere  bagatelle  of  fifteen  sous  a  bottle. 
Then  no  one  can  afford  to  be  without  it." 

"Thunder!"  saidM.  Minxit,  "I  see  that  you  under- 
stand the  practice  of  medicine  on  the  grand  orchestra 
plan ;  send  me  your  man  as  soon  as  you  like ;  I  will 
take  him  into  my  service,  whether  as  a  Nubian  or  as  a 
dried-up  old  man." 

At  this  moment  a  domestic  entered  the  dining-room 
in  a  great  fright,  and  told  my  uncle  that  a  score  of 
women  were  tugging  at  his  ass's  tail,  and  that,  when  he 
had  tried  to  disperse  them  with  a  whip,  they  had  come 
very  near  tearing  him  to  pieces  with  their  sharp  finger- 
nails. 

"I  see  how  it  is,"  said  my  uncle,  bursting  with 
laughter :  "  they  are  pulling  hairs  from  the  Holy  Vir- 
gin's beast  to  keep  as  relics." 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  97 

M.  Minxit  asked  for  an  explanation  of  this  allusion. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  cried,  when  my  uncle  had  finished 
his  story,  "  we  are  impious  men  if  we  do  not  worship 
Benjamin ;  pastor,  you  must  make  a  saint  of  him." 

"  I  protest,"  said  Benjamin ;  "  I  do.  not  wish  to  go  to 
Paradise,  for  I  should  not  meet  any  of  you  there." 

"  Yes,  laugh,  gentlemen,"  said  my  grandmother,  after 
having  laughed  herself;  "but  that  doesn't  make  me 
laugh ;  Benjamin's  practical  jokes  always  end  in  some 
such  way;  M.  Durand  will  make  us  pay  for  his  ass, 
unless  we  restore  the  animal  as  we  received  it." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  my  uncle,  "  he  cannot  make  us 
pay  for  more  than  the  tail.  Would  a  man  who  had  cut 
off  my  cue, —  and  my  cue  may  surely  be  said,  without 
flattering  it,  to  be  worth  as  much  as  the  tail  of  M. 
Durand's  ass, —  be  as  guilty  in  the  eyes  of  justice  as  if 
he  had  killed  me  entirely  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "  and  if  you  want 
to  know  my  opinion,  I  should  not  esteem  you  one  obole 
less." 

Meanwhile  the  yard  was  filling  with  women  who 
maintained  a  respectful  attitude,  such  as  is  maintained 
around  a  too  small  chapel  in  which  divine  service  is  in 
progress,  and  many  of  whom  were  kneeling. 

"  You  will  have  to  rid  us  of  these  people,"  said  M. 
Minxit  to  Benjamin. 

"  Nothing  easier,"  answered  the  latter ;  then  he  went 
to  the  window  and  told  the  throng  that  they  would 
have  plenty  of  time  to  see  the  Holy  Virgin,  that  she 
proposed  to  remain  two  days  at  M.  Minxit's,  and  that 
the  next  Sunday  she  would  not  fail  to  attend  high  mass. 
On  the  strength  of  this  assurance  the  people  withdrew 
satisfied. 


98  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  Such,  parishioners,"  said  the  priest,  "  do  me  little 
honor ;  I  must  tell  them  so  on  Sunday  in  my  sermon. 
How  can  any  one  be  so  limited  in  capacity  as  to  take 
the  dirty  tail  of  an  ass  for  a  sacred  object  ?  " 

"But,  pastor,"  responded  Benjamin,  "you  who  are  so 
philosophical  at  table,  have  you  not  in  your  church  two 
or  three  bones  as  white  as  paper,  which  are  under  glass 
and  which  you  call  the  relics  of  Saint  Maurice  ?  " 

"  Those  are  exhausted  relics,"  said  M.  Minxit :  "  it  is 
more  than  fifty  years  since  they  worked  miracles.  My 
friend  the  priest  would  do  well  to  get  rid  of  them  and 
sell  them  to  be  made  into  animal  black.  I  would  take 
them  myself  to  make  album  grsecum,  if  he  would  let 
me  have  them  at  a  reasonable  price." 

"  What  is  album  graecum  ?  "  asked  my  grandmother, 
innocently. 

"  Madame,"  answered  M.  Minxit,  with  a  bow,  "  it  is 
Greek  white :  I  regret  that  I  cannot  tell  you  more  about 
it." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  the  tabellion,  a  little  old  man  in 
a  white  wig,  whose  eye  was  full  of  mischief  and  vivac- 
ity, "I  do  not  reproach  the  pastor  for  the  honorable 
place  which  he  has  given  in  his  church  to  the  shin- 
bones  of  Saint  Maurice :  Saint  Maurice  undoubtedly 
had  shin-bones  when  he  was  alive.  Why  should  they 
not  be  here  as  well  as  anywhere  ?  I  am  even  astonished 
at  one  thing, —  that  the  vestry  does  not  possess  our 
patron  saint's  Hessian  boots.  But  I  could  wish  that 
the  pastor  in  his  turn  might  be  more  tolerant  and  might 
not  rebuke  his  parishioners  for  their  faith  in  the  Wan- 
dering Jew.  Not  to  believe  enough  is  as  sure  a  sign  of 
ignorance  as  to  believe  too  much." 


MY    UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  99 

"  What !  "  replied  the  priest  quickly,  "  you,  Monsieur 
tabellion,  you  believe  in  the  Wandering  Jew?" 

"  Why,  then,  should  I  not  believe  in  him  as  well  as 
in  Saint  Maurice  ?  " 

"And  you,  Monsieur  doctor,"  said  he,  addressing 
Fata,  "do  you  believe  in  the  Wandering  Jew?" 

"  Hum !  hum !  "  said  the  latter,  taking  a  huge  pinch 
of  snuff. 

"  And  you,  respectable  Monsieur  Minxit "... 

"I,"  interrupted  M.  Minxit,  "agree  with  my  cen- 
tre" re,  except  that,  instead  of  a  pinch  of  snuff,  I  take  a 
glass  of  wine." 

"You,  at  least,  Monsieur  Rathery,  who  pass  for  a 
philosopher,  I  really  hope  that  you  do  not  honor  the 
Wandering  Jew  with  belief  in  his  eternal  peregrina 
tions." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  my  uncle ;  "  you  believe  in  Jesus 
Christ." 

"Oh!  that's  different,"  answered  the  priest,  "I  be- 
lieve in  Jesus  Christ  because  neither  his  existence  nor 
his  divinity  can  be  called  in  question;  because  the 
evangelists  who  have  written  his  history  are  men 
worthy  of  faith ;  because  they  could  not  have  been  mis- 
taken; because  they  had  no  motive  to  deceive  their 
neighbor,  and  because,  even  if  they  had  desired  it,  the 
fraud  could  not  have  been  carried  out. 

"  If  the  facts  recorded  by  them  were  manufactured,  if 
the  Gospel  were,  like  '  Teldmaque,'  only  a  sort  of  philo- 
sophical and  religious  novel,  on  the  appearance  of 
that  fatal  book  which  was  to  spread  trouble  and  division 
over  the  surface  of  the  earth;  which  was  to  separate 
husband  from  wife,  children  from  their  fathers ;  which 


100  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

rehabilitated  poverty ;  which  made  the  slave  the  equal 
of  the  master ;  which  conflicted  with  all  received  ideas : 
which  honored  everything  that  up  to  that  time  had 
been  received,  and  threw  as  rubbish  into  the  fire  of  hell 
everything  that  had  been  honored;  which  overturned 
the  old  religion  of  the  Pagans,  and  on  its  ruins  estab- 
lished, in  the  place  of  altars,  the  gibbet  of  a  poor  car- 
penter's son  "... 

"Monsieur  priest,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "your  period  is 
too  long ;  you  must  cut  it  with  a  glass  of  wine." 

The  priest,  having  drunk  a  glass  of  wine,  continued : 

"  On  the  appearance  of  that  book,  I  say,  the  Pagans 
would  have  uttered  an  immense  cry  of  protest,  and  the 
Jews,  whom  it  accused  of  the  greatest  crime  that  a 
people  can  commit,  a  deicide,  would  have  followed  it 
with  their  eternal  denunciations." 

"  But,"  said  my  uncle,  "  the  Wandering  Jew  is  sup- 
ported by  an  authority  no  less  powerful  than  that  of 
the  Gospel, —  the  lament  of  the  bourgeois  of  Brussels  in 
Brabant,  who  met  him  at  the  gates  of  the  city  and 
regaled  him  with  a  pot  of  fresh  beer. 

"  The  evangelists  are  men  worthy  of  faith ;  grant  it. 
But  in  fact,  inspiration  aside,  what  were  these  evangel- 
ists ?  Tramps,  men  who  had  neither  fire  nor  shelter, 
who  paid  no  taxes,  and  whom  the  authorities  to-day 
would  prosecute  as  vagabonds.  The  bourgeois  of  Brus- 
sels, on  the  contrary,  were  established  men,  house- 
holders; several,  I  am  surev  were  syndics  or  church- 
wardens. If  the  evangelists  and  the  Brussels  bourgeois 
could  have  a  discussion  before  the  bailiff,  I  am  very  sure 
that  the  magistrate  would  defer  to  the  oath  of  the 
Brussels  bourgeois. 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  101 

"The  Brussels  bourgeois  could  not  have  been  mis- 
taken ;  for  a  bourgeois  is  not  a  puppet,  a  man  of  ginger- 
bread, and  it  is  no  more  difficult  to  distinguish  a  man 
over  seventeen  hundred  years  old  from  a  modern  than 
to  distinguish  an  ordinary  old  man  from  a  child  of  five. 

u  The  Brussels  bourgeois  had  no  motive  to  deceive 
their  fellow-citizens :  it  was  of  little  importance  to 
them  whether  there  was  or  was  not  a  man  who  travels 
on  forever;  and  what  honor  could  they  derive  from 
sitting  at  table  in  a  brewery  with  the  superlative  of 
vagabonds,  with  one  of  the  damned,  so  to  speak,  a  hun- 
dred times  more  despicable  than  a  galley-slave,  to 
whom  I  myself  would  not  like  to  take  off  my  hat,  and 
from  having  drunk  fresh  beer  with  him  ?  Arid,  looking 
at  the  matter  rightly,  they  even  acted,  in  publishing 
their  lament,  rather  against  their  interest  than  for  it ; 
for  that  bit  of  poetry  is  not  calculated  to  give  a  high 
opinion  of  their  poetic  value.  And  the  tailor  Millot- 
Rataut,  whose  '  Grand  Noel '  I  have  many  a  time  sur- 
prised around  a  bit  of  Brie  cheese,  is  a  Virgil  in  com- 
parison with  them. 

"  The  Brussels  bourgeois  could  not  have  deceived  their 
fellow-citizens,  even  had  they  wished  to  do  so.  If  the 
facts  celebrated  in  their  lament  were  manufactured,  on 
the  appearance  of  that  document  the  inhabitants  of 
Brussels  would  have  protested ;  the  police  would  have 
consulted  their  registers  to  see  if  a  certain  Isaac  Laque- 
dem  had  spent  such  a  day  in  Brussels,  and  they  would 
have  protested.  The  shoemakers,  whose  venerable 
brotherhood  has  been  forever  dishonored  by  the  brutal 
conduct  of  the  Wandering  Jew,  himself  a  knight  of  the 
\awl,  would  not  have  failed  to  protest ;  in  short,  there 


102  MY  TTNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

would  have  been  a  concert  of  protests  sufficient  to 
crumble  the  towers  of  the  capital  of  Brabant. 

"  Besides,  in  the  matter  of  credibility,  the  lament  of 
the  Wandering  Jew  has  notable  advantages  over  the 
Gospel ;  it  did  not  fall  from  heaven  like  a  meteoric 
stone ;  it  has  a  precise  date.  The  first  copy  was  de- 
posited in  the  royal  library,  well  and  duly  signed  with 
the  name  of  the  printer  and  the  street  and  number 
of  his  domicile.  The  lament  of  Brussels  is  accom- 
panied by  a  portrait  of  the  Wandering  Jew  in  a  three- 
cornered  hat,  polonaise  coat,  Hessian  boots,  and  carry- 
ing a  huge  cane ;  no  medallion,  however,  has  come 
down  to  us  bearing  the  effigy  of  Jesus  Christ.  The 
lament  of  the  Wandering  Jew  was  written  in  an  en- 
lightened, investigating  century,  more  disposed  to 
shorten  its  creed  than  to  lengthen  it ;  the  Gospel,  on 
the  contrary,  appeared  suddenly  like  a  torch,  lighted 
no  one  knows  by  whom,  amid  the  darkness  of  a  century 
given  over  to  gross  superstitions,  and  among  a  people 
plunged  in  the  deepest  ignorance,  and  whose  history  is 
only  a  long  series  of  acts  of  superstition  and  bar- 
barism." 

"  Permit  me*,  Monsieur  Benjamin,"  said  the  notary ; 
"  you  have  said  that  the  Brussels  bourgeois  could  not 
have  been  mistaken  as  to  the  identity  of  the  Wandering 
Jew ;  yet  the  inhabitants  of  Moulot  took  you  this  morn- 
ing for  the  Wandering  Jew ;  you  yourself,  in  that  ca- 
pacity, have  worked  an  authentic  miracle  in  presence 
of  the  entire  people  of  Moulot;  your  demonstration 
fails  therefore  in  one  point,  and  your  rules  regarding 
historical  certainty  are  not  infallible." 

"  The   objection  is   a   strong  one,"   said    Benjamin, 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  103 

scratching  his  head ;  "  I  admit  that  it  is  impossible  for 
me  to  answer  it;  but  it  applies  as  well  to  Monsieur's 
Jesus  Christ  as  to  my  Wandering  Jew." 

"But,"  interrupted  my  grandmother,  who  always 
wanted  to  come  down  to  facts,  "  I  hope  that  you  believe 
in  Jesus  Christ,  Benjamin  ?  " 

"Undoubtedly,  my  dear  sister,  I  believe  in  Jesus 
Christ.  I  believe  in  him  the  more  firmly  because  with- 
out believing  in  the  divinity  of  Jesus  Christ  one  cannot 
believe  in  the  existence  of  God,  as  the  only  proofs  of 
the  existence  of  God  are  the  miracles  of  Jesus  Christ. 
But  then  that  does  not  prevent  me  from  believing  in 
the  Wandering  Jew,  or,  to  explain  myself  more  clearly, 
shall  I  tell  you  how  I  view  the  Wandering  Jew  ? 

"  The  Wandering  Jew  is  the  effigy  of  the  Jewish 
people,  sketched  by  some  unknown  poet  of  the  people, 
on  the  walls  of  a  cottage.  This  myth  is  so  striking  that 
only  a  blind  man  could  fail  to  recognize  it. 

"  The  Wandering  Jew  has  no  roof,  no  fireside,  no 
legal  and  political  domicile :  the  Jewish  people  have  no 
country. 

"  The  Wandering  Jew  is  obliged  to  travel  on  without 
rest,  without  stopping,  without  taking  breath,  which 
must  be  very  fatiguing  to  him  with  his  Hessian  boots. 
He  has  already  been  seven  times  around  the  world. 
The  Jewish  people  are  not  firmly  established  anywhere ; 
everywhere  they  live  in  tents ;  they  go  and  come  in- 
cessantly like  the  waves  of  the  ocean,  and  they  too,  like 
I  foam  floating  on  the  surface  of  the  nations,  like  a  straw 
\  borne  by  the  current  of  civilization,  have  already  been 
many  times  around  the  world. 

"The  Wandering  Jew  always  has  five  sous   in  his 


104  MY  TJNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

pocket.  The  Jewish  people,  continually  ruined  by  the 
exactions  of  the  feudal  nobility  and  by  the  confiscations 
of  the  kings,  always  came  back  to  a  prosperous  condi- 
tion, as  a  cork  reascends  from  the  bottom  to  the  surface 
of  the  water.  Their  wealth  sprang  up  of  itself. 

"The  Wandering  Jew  can  spend  only  five  sous  at 
a  time.  The  Jewish  people,  obliged  to  conceal  their 
wealth,  have  become  stingy  and  parsimonious;  they 
spend  little. 

"  The  torment  of  the  Wandering  Jew  will  last  for- 
ever. The  Jewish  people  can  no  more  reunite  as  a 
national  body  than  the  ashes  of  an  oak  struck  by  light- 
ning can  reunite  as  a  tree.  They  are  scattered  over  the 
surface  of  the  earth  until  the  centuries  shall  be  no  more. 

"  To  speak  seriously,  it  is  doubtless  a  superstition  to 
believe  in  the  Wandering  Jew,  but  I  will  say  to  you  as 
it  is  said  in  the  Gospel:  let  him  who  is  free  from  all 
superstition  cast  the  first  sarcasm  at  the  inhabitants  of 
Moulot.  The  fact  is  that  we  are  all  superstitious,  some 
more,  others  less,  and  often  he  who  has  a  wen  on  his 
ear  as  big  as  a  potato  makes  sport  of  him  who  has  a 
wart  on  his  chin. 

"There  are  not  two  Christians  who  have  the  same 
beliefs,  who  admit  and  reject  the  same  things.  One 
fasts  on  Friday  and  does  not  go  to  church  on  Sunday; 
another  goes  to  church  on  Sunday  and  eats  meat  on  Fri- 
day. This  lady  mocks  at  Friday  and  Sunday  alike,  and 
would  consider  herself  damned  if  she  should  be  married 
outside  of  a  church. 

"Let  religion  be  a  beast  with  seven  horns.  He 
who  believes  only  in  six  of  its  horns  mocks  at  him  who 
believes  in  the  seventh ;  he  who  grants  it  but  five  horns 


MY  UKCLE  BENJAMIN.  105 

mocks  at  him  who  recognizes  six.  Then  comes  the 
deist  who  mocks  at  all  who  believe  that  religion  has 
horns,  and  finally  passes  the  atheist  who  mocks  at  all 
the  others,  and  yet  the  atheist  believes  in  Cagliostro 
and  consults  the  fortune-tellers.  In  short,  there  is 
only  one  man  who  is  not  superstitious, —  namely,  he 
who  believes  only  in  that  which  is  demonstrated." 

It  was  dark  and  more  than  dark  when  my  grand- 
mother declared  that  she  wished  to  start. 

"  I  will  let  Benjamin  go  only  on  one  condition,"  said 
M.  Minxit,  "that  he  promises  me  to  take  part  on  Sun- 
day in  a  grand  hunting  party  which  I  decree  in  his 
honor:  he  must  become  familiar  with  his  woods  and 
the  hares  within  them." 

"  But,"  said  my  uncle,  "  I  do  not  know  the  first  ele- 
ments of  hunting.  I  could  readily  distinguish  a  hare 
stew  from  a  stewed  rabbit,  but  may  Millot-Rataut  sing 
me  his  '  Grand  Noel '  if  I  am  capable  of  distinguishing  a 
hare  on  the  run  from  a  running  rabbit." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  you,  my  friend  ;  but  that  is 
one  reason  more  why  you  should  come :  one  should 
know  a  little  of  everything." 

"  You  will  see,  Monsieur  Minxit,  that  I  shall  do  some- 
thing awful ;  I  shall  kill  one  of  your  musicians." 

"  Oh !  be  careful  not  to  do  that,  at  least ;  I  should 
have  to  pay  his  bereaved  family  more  than  he  is  worth. 
But,  to  avoid  any  accident,  you  shall  hunt  with  your 
sword." 

"Well,  I  promise,"  said  my  uncle. 

And  thereupon  he  took  his  leave  of  M.  Minxit,  accom- 
panied by  his  dear  sister. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Benjamin  to  my  grandmother 


106  MY  TJNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

when  they  were  on  their  way  home,  "  that  I  would 
rather  marry  M.  Minxit  than  his  daughter?" 

"  One  should  desire  only  what  he  can  have,  and 
whatever  one  can  have  he  should  desire,"  answered 
my  grandmother,  dryly. 

"But"  .  .  . 

"But  .  .  .  look  out  for  the  ass,  and  do  not  prick 
him  with  your  sword,  as  you  did  this  morning ;  that  is 
all  I  ask  of  you." 

"You  are  out  of  sorts,  my  sister;  I  should  like  to 
know  why." 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you ;  because  you  drank  too  much, 
debated  too  much,  and  did  not  say  a  word  to  Mile. 
Arabelle.  Now,  leave  me  in  peace." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HOW    MY    UNCLE    KISSED   A   MAEQUIS. 

THE  following  Saturday  my  uncle  slept  at  Corvol. 

They  started  the  next  morning  at  sunrise.  M. 
Minxit  was  accompanied  by  all  his  people  and  several 
friends,  among  whom  was  his  confrere  Fata.  It  was 
one  of  those  splendid  days  that  gloomy  winter,  like  a 
smiling  jailer,  occasionally  gives  the  earth;  February 
seemed  to  have  borrowed  its  sun  from  the  month  of 
April ;  the  sky  was  clear,  and  the  South  wind  filled  the 
atmosphere  with  a  soft  warmth ;  the  river  was  steaming 
in  the  distance  among  the  willows ;  the  white  frost  of 
the  morning  hung  in  little  drops  from  the  branches  of 
the  bushes ;  the  little  shepherds  were  singing  in  the 
meadows  for  the  first  time  in  the  year,  and  the  brooks 
that  ran  down  the  mountain  of  Flez,  awakened  by  the 
warmth  of  the  sun,  babbled  at  the  foot  of  the  hedges. 

"  Monsieur  Fata,"  said  my  uncle,  "  this  is  a  fine  day. 
Shall  we  pass  under  the  wet  branches  of  the  woods  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  to,  my  confrere,"  said  the  latter.  "  If 
you  will  come  to.  my  house,  I  will  show  you  a  four- 
headed  child  which  I  have  sealed  in  a  bottle.  M. 
Minxit  offers  me  three  hundred  francs  for  it." 

"  You  will  do  well  to  let  him  have  it,"  said  my  uncle, 
"  and  put  some  currant  wine  in  its  place." 

Nevertheless,  as  he  had  a  good  pair  of  legs,  and  as  it 
was  only  two  short  leagues  from  there  to  Varzy,  he 
decided  to  follow  his  confrere.  So  Fata  and  he  left  the 


108  MY  tTKCLE  BEKJAMTtf. 

main  body  of  the  huntsmen,  and  plunged  into  a  cross- 
path  that  ran  through  the  meadow.  Soon  they  found 
themselves  opposite  Saint-Pierre  du  Mont.  Now,  Saint- 
Pierre  du  Mont  is  a  big  hill  situated  on  the  road  from 
Clamecy  to  Varzy.  At  its  base  it  is  surrounded  with 
meadows  and  streaming  with  water-courses,  but  at  its 
summit  it  is  shorn  and  bare.  You  would  take  it  for  a 
huge  ball  of  earth  raised  on  the  plain  by  a  gigantic 
mole.  On  its  bare  and  scurvy  cranium  there  was  then 
the  remnant  of  a  feudal  castle ;  to-day  that  is  replaced 
by  an  elegant  country-house,  in  which  a  cattle-raiser 
lives,  for  thus  it  is  that  the  works  of  man,  like  those  of 
nature,  insensibly  decompose  and  recompose. 

The  walls  of  the  castle  were  dismantled  and  its  bat- 
tlements toothless  in  many  spots ;  the  towers  seemed  to 
have  been  broken  off  in  the  middle,  and  they  were 
reduced  to  the  condition  of  trunks;  its  moats,  half 
dried  up,  were  encumbered  by  tall  grasses  and  a  forest 
of  reeds,  and  its  drawbridge  had  given  place  to  a  stone 
bridge ;  the  sinister  shadow  of  this  old  feudal  ruin  sad- 
dened the  entire  neighborhood ;  the  cottages  had  moved 
back  from  it :  some  had  gone  to  the  neighboring  hill  to 
form  the  village  of  Flez,  while  others  had  gone  down 
into  the  valley  and  grouped  themselves  as  a  hamlet 
along  the  road. 

The  master  of  this  old  establishment  at  that  time  was 
a  certain  Marquis  de  Cambyse.  M.  de  Cambyse  was 
tall,  stout,  heavily  built,  and  had  a  giant's  strength. 
You  would  have  thought  him  an  old  suit  of  armour 
made  of  flesh.  He  was  of  a  violent,  passionate,  exces- 
sively irascible  nature,  and  was  moreover  spoiled  by  his 
nobility,  and  imagined  that  the  Cambyse  family  was  a 
work  unparalleled  in  creation. 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  109 

At  one  time  he  had  been  an  officer  of  musketeers,  of 
I  know  not  what  color ;  but  he  was  ill  at  ease  at  court, 
his  will  there  was  repressed,  his  violence  could  not  give 
itself  vent,  and  moreover  he  was  stifled  amid  that  dust 
of  country  squires  which  sparkled  and  whirled  around 
the  throne.  He  had  returned  to  his  estate,  and  lived 
there  like  a  little  monarch.  Time  had  taken  away  one 
by  one  the  old  privileges  of  the  nobility;  but  he  had 
actually  kept  them,  and  exercised  them  to  the  full.  He 
was  still  absolute  master,  not  only  of  his  domains,  but 
also  of  all  the  country  round  about.  Barring  the 
buckler,  he  was  a  veritable  feudal  lord.  He  cudgelled 
the  peasants,  took  their  wives  from  them  when  they 
were  pretty,  invaded  their  lands  with  his  hounds,  tram- 
pled their  crops  under  the  feet  of  his  valets,  and  sub- 
jected to  a  thousand  annoyances  the  bourgeois  who 
allowed  themselves  to  meet  him  in  the  vicinity  of  his 
mountain. 

He  practised  despotism  and  violence  from  caprice,  for 
entertainment,  and  especially  through  pride.  In  order 
to  be  the  most  eminent  personage  in  the  vicinity,  he 
wished  to  be  the  wickedest.  He  knew  no  better  way  of 
showing  his  superiority  to  people  than  to  oppress  them. 
To  be  famous  he  made  himself  wicked.  Except  in  size, 
he  was  like  the  flea  who  cannot  make  you  aware  of  his 
presence  among  your  bed-clothes  except  by  pricking 
you.  Although  rich,  he  had  creditors.  But  he  made  it 
a  point  of  honor  not  to  pay  them.  Such  was  the  terror 
of  his  name  that  you  could  not  have  found  a  sheriff's 
officer  in  the  country  willing  to  serve  a  paper  on  him. 
A  single  one,  father  Ballivet,  had  dared  to  serve  a  writ 
on  him  with  his  own  hand  and  speaking  in  his  own 


110  MY  tmCLE  BENJAMIN. 

pei-son,  but  he  had  risked  his  life  in  doing  it.  Honor 
then  to  generous  father  Ballivet,  the  royal  process- 
server,  who  served  writs  everywhere  and  two  leagues 
beyond,  as  the  wags  of  the  neighborhood  said  in  order 
to  dim  the  glory  of  this  great  process-server. 

This  was  how  he  managed  it.  He  wrapped  his  docu- 
ment in  a  half-dozen  envelopes  treacherously  sealed,  and 
presented  it  to  M.  de  Cambyse  as  a  package  coming 
from  the  castle  of  Vilaine.  While  the  Marquis  was 
unwrapping  the  document,  he  ran  away  noiselessly, 
reached  the  main  gate,  and  mounted  his  horse,  which 
he  had  fastened  to  a  tree  at  some  distance  from  the 
castle.  When  the  Marquis  found  out  what  the  pack- 
age contained,  furious  at  having  been  the  dupe  of  a 
process-server,  he  ordered  his  domestics  to  follow  in  his 
tracks  ;  but  father  Ballivet  was  beyond  their  reach,  and 
mocked  at  them  with  a  gesture  which  I  cannot  repro- 
duce here. 

Moreover,  M.  de  Cambyse  felt  scarcely  greater  scru- 
ple about  discharging  his  gun  at  a  peasant  than  at  a  fox. 
He  had  already  maimed  two  or  three,  who  were  known 
in  the  neighborhood  as  the  cripples  of  M.  de  Cambyse, 
and  several  quasi-notable  inhabitants  of  Clamecy  had 
been  the  victims  of  his  wicked  practical  jokes.  Although 
he  was  not  yet  very  old,  there  had  already  been  in  the 
life  of  this  honorable  lord  enough  bloody  tricks  to  en- 
title him  to  two  life-sentences ;  but  his  family  stood 
well  at  court,  and  the  protection  of  his  noble  relatives 
secured  him  against  prosecution.  And  in  fact  each  one 
takes  his  pleasure  where  he  finds  it.  The  good  King 
Louis  XV.,  while  engaged  in  such  gentle  and  merry 
sports  at  Versailles,  and  while  giving  parties  to  the 


MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  Ill 

gentlemen  of  his  court,  did  not  wish  his  gentlemen  in 
the  provinces  to  grow  weaiy  on  their  estates,  and  he 
would  have  been  very  much  vexed  had  there  been  any 
lack  of  peasants  for  them  to  whip  until  they  howled  or 
of  bourgeois  for  them  to  insult.  Louis,  called  the  Well- 
Beloved,  was  determined  to  deserve  the  love  that  his 
subjects  had  awarded  him.  So  then  it  is  understood 
that  the  Marquis  de  Cambyse  was  as  inviolable  as  a 
constitutional  king,  and  that  for  him  there  was  neither 
justice  nor  marshalsea. 

Benjamin  was  fond  of  declaiming  against  M.  de 
Cambyse.  He  called  him  the  Gessler  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  had  often  manifested  a  desire  to  find  himself 
face  to  face  with  this  man.  His  wishes  were  fulfilled 
only  too  soon,  as  you  will  now  see. 

My  uncle,  in  his  capacity  of  philosopher,  stood  in 
contemplation  before  the  old  battlements,  black  and 
notched,  that  rent  the  azure  of  the  sky. 

"  Monsieur  Rathery,"  said  his  confrere  to  him,  pull- 
ing him  by  the  sleeve,  "  it  does  no  one  any  good  to  stay 
around  this  castle,  I  warn  you." 

"What,  Monsieur  Fata,  you  too  are  afraid  of  a  Mar- 
quis ?  " 

"But,  Monsieur  Rathery,  you  know  I  am  a  doctor 
with  a  wig." 

"  That's  the  way  with  all  of  them ! "  cried  my  uncle, 
giving  free  course  to  his  indignation ;  "  there  are  three 
hundred  common  people  against  one  gentleman,  and 
they  allow  the  gentleman  to  walk  over  their  bellies. 
Furthermore,  they  flatten  themselves  as  much  as  they 
can  for  fear  this  noble  personage  may  stumble  !  " 

"What  do  you  expect,  M.  Rathery,  against  force?" 


112  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"But  it  is  you  who  have  the  force,  poor  fellow! 
You  resemble  the  ox  who  lets  a  child  lead  him  from 
his  green  meadow  to  the  slaughter-house.  Oh,  the 
people  are  cowards,  cowards  !  I  say  it  with  bitterness, 
as  a  mother  says  that  her  child  has  a  wicked  heart. 
They  always  abandon  to  the  executioner  those  who 
have  sacrificed  themselves  for  them,  and,  if  a  rope  is 
lacking  with  which  to  hang  them,  they  undertake  to 
furnish  it.  Two  thousand  years  have  passed  over  the 
ashes  of  the  Gracchi,  and  seventeen  hundred  and  fifty 
years  over  the  gibbet  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  they  are  still 
the  same  people.  They  sometimes  have  spurts  of  cour- 
age, and  fire  issues  from  their  mouths  and  nostrils ; 
but  slavery  is  their  normal  condition,  and  they  always 
return  to  it,  as  a  tamed  canary  always  returns  to 
its  cage.  You  watch  the  passing  of  the  torrent 
swollen  by  a  sudden  storm,  and  you  take  it  for  a 
river.  You  pass  again  the  next  day,  and  you  find  noth- 
ing but  a  sheepish  thread  of  water  hiding  under  the 
grasses  of  its  banks,  and  which  has  left,  from  its  pas- 
sage of  the  day  before,  only  a  few  straws  on  the 
branches  of  the  bushes.  They  are  strong  when  they 
wish  to  be  ;  but  look  out,  their  strength  lasts  only  a 
moment :  those  who  rely  upon  them  build  their  house 
upon  the  icy  surface  of  a  lake." 

Just  at  that  moment  a  man  dressed  in  a  rich  hunting 
costume  crossed  the  road,  followed  by  barking  dogs  and 
a  long  train  of  valets.  Fata  turned  pale. 

"  M.  de  Cambyse,"  said  he  to  my  uncle ;  and  he 
bowed  profoundly ;  but  Benjamin  stood  straight  and 
covered  like  a  Spanish  grandee. 

Now,  nothing  was  more  calculated  to  offend  the  terri- 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  113 

ble  Marquis  than  the  presumption  of  this  villein  who 
refused  him  the  ordinary  homage  on  the  verge  of  his 
domains  and  in  front  of  his  castle.  It  was,  moreover, 
a  very  bad  example,  which  might  become  contagious. 

"  Clodhopper,"  said  he  to  my  uncle,  with  his  gentle- 
man's air,  "  why  do  you  not  salute  me  ?  " 

"  And  you,"  answered  my  uncle,  surveying  him  from 
head  to  foot  with  his  gray  eye,  "why  did  you  not 
salute  me  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  I  am  the  Marquis  de  Cam- 
byse,  lord  of  all  this  country  ?  " 

"  And  are  you  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  I  am  Benja- 
min Rathery,  doctor  of  medicine,  of  Clamecy  ?  " 

"  Really,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  so  you  are  a  saw- 
bones ?  I  congratulate  you  upon  it ;  it  is  a  fine  title 
that  you  have." 

"It  is  as  good  a  title  as  yours  !  To  acquire  it,  I  had 
to  follow  long  and  serious  studies.  But  what  did  that 
de  which  you  put  before  your  name  cost  you?  The 
king  can  make  twenty  marquises  a  day,  but  I  defy 
him,  with  all  his  power,  to  make  a  doctor ;  a  doctor  has 
his  usefulness ;  later  perhaps  you  will  recognize  it ; 
but  what  is  a  marquis  good  for?" 

The  Marquis  de  Cambyse  had  breakfasted  well  that 
morning.  He  was  in  good  humor. 

"  Well,"  said  he  to  his  steward,  "  this  is  an  original 
wag ;  I  would  rather  have  met  him  than  a  deer.  And 
this  one,"  he  added,  pointing  his  finger  at  Fata,  "  who 
is  he?" 

"M.  Fata,  of  Varzy,  Monsieur,"  said  the  doctor, 
making  a  second  genuflection. 

"Fata,"  said  my  uncle,  "you  are  a  poltroon;  I  sus- 


114  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

pected  as  much ;  but  you  shall  account  to  me  for  this 
conduct." 

"  So,"  said  the  Marquis  to  Fata,  "  you  are  acquainted 
with  this  man  ?  " 

"Very  slightly,  Monsieur  Marquis,  I  swear  it:  I 
know  him  only  from  having  dined  with  him  at  M. 
Minxit's;  but  from  the  moment  that  he  fails  in  the 
respect  that  he  owes  to  nobility,  I  know  him  no  more." 

"  And  I,"  said  my  uncle,  "  am  just  beginning  to  know 
him." 

"  What,  Monsieur  Fata  of  Varzy,"  continued  the 
Marquis,  "  do  you  dine  with  that  queer  fellow  Minxit?  " 

"Oh,  by  chance,  Monseigneur,  one  day  when  I  was 
passing  through  Corvol.  I  know  very  well  that  this 
Minxit  is  not  a  man  to  associate  with;  he  is  a  hare- 
brained fellow,  a  man  spoiled  by  his  wealth,  and  who 
thinks  himself  as  good  as  a  gentleman.  Hi !  hi !  who 
gave  me  that  kick  from  behind?  " 

"I  did,"  said  Benjamin,  "in  behalf  of  Monsieur 
Minxit." 

"  Now,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  you  have  nothing  more 
to  do  here,  Monsieur  Fata ;  leave  me  alone  with  your 
travelling  companion.  So  then,"  he  added,  addressing 
my  uncle,  "  you  persist  in  not  saluting  me  ?  " 

"If  you  salute  me  first,  I  will  salute  you  second," 
said  Benjamin. 

"  And  that  is  your  last  word  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"You  have  carefully  considered  what  you  are  do- 
ing?" 

"  Listen,"  said  my  uncle :  "  I  wish  to  show  deference 
for  your  title,  and  to  prove  to  you  how  accommodating 
I  am  in  everything  that  concerns  etiquette." 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  115 

Then  he  took  a  coin  from  his  pocket,  and,  tossing  it 
in  the  air,  said  to  the  Marquis : 

"Heads  or  tails?  Gentleman  or  doctor,  he  whom 
fortune  shall  designate  shall  be  the  first  to  salute,  and 
from  this  there  shall  be  no  appeal." 

"  Insolent  fellow,"  said  the  fat,  chub-faced  steward, 
"  do  you  not  see  that  you  are  most  scandalously  lacking 
in  respect  to  Monseigneur.  If  I  were  in  his  place,  I 
would  have  beaten  you  long  ago." 

"  My  friend,"  answered  Benjamin,  "  attend  to  your 
figures.  Your  lord  pays  you  to  rob  him,  not  to  give 
him  advice." 

Just  then  a  game-keeper  passed  behind  my  uncle,  and 
with  the  back  of  his  hand  knocked  off  his  three-cornered 
hat,  which  fell  in  the  mud.  Benjamin  had  extraor- 
dinary muscular  strength:  as  he  turned  round,  there 
was  still  on  the  game-keeper's  lips  the  broad  smile 
which  his  trick  had  excited.  My  uncle,  with  one  blow 
of  his  iron  fist,  sent  the  man  head  over  heels,  half  into 
the  ditch,  half  into  the  hedge  that  lined  the  road.  The 
man's  comrades  wanted  to  extricate  him  from  the  am- 
phibious position  in  which  he  thus  found  himself,  but 
M.  de  Cambyse  would  not  allow  it.  "  The  rogue  must 
learn,"  said  he,  "  that  the  right  of  insolence  does  not 
belong  to  common  people." 

Really  I  do  not  understand  why  my  uncle,  generally 
so  philosophical,  did  not  yield  with  good  grace  to  ne- 
cessity. I  know  very  well  that  it  is  vexing  to  a  proud 
citizen  of  the  people,  who  feels  his  worth,  to  be  obliged 
to  salute  a  Marquis.  But  when  we  are  under  the  sway 
of  force,  our  free  will  is  gone ;  it  is  no  longer  an  act 
performed,  it  is  a  result  produced.  We  are  nothing  but 


11(5  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.       * 

a  machine  that  is  not  responsible  for  its  acts ;  the  man 
who  does  us  violence  is  the  only  one  who  can  be  re- 
proached for  whatever  is  shameful  or  guilty  in  our 
action.  Consequently  I  have  always  looked  upon  the 
invincible  resistance  of  martyrs  to  their  persecutors  as 
an  obstinacy  scarcely  worthy  of  being  canonized.  You 
wish,  Antiochus,  to  throw  me  into  boiling  oil,  if  I  refuse 
to  eat  pork  ?  I  must  first  call  your  attention  to  the  fact 
that  we  do  not  fry  a  man  as  we  do  a  gudgeon ;  but,  if 
you  persist  in  your  demands,  I  eat  your  stew,  and  I  even 
eat  it  with  pleasure  if  it  is  well-cooked ;  for  to  you,  to 
you  alone,  Antiochus,  will  the  digestion  be  dangerous. 
You,  Monsieur  de  Cambyse,  you  demand,  with  your  gun 
levelled  at  my  breast,  that  I  salute  you  ?  Well,  Mar- 
quis, I  have  the  honor  to  salute  you.  I  know  very  well 
that  after  this  formality  you  will  be  worth  no  more  and 
I  no  less.  There  is  only  one  case  in  which  we  ought, 
whatever  may  happen,  to  stand  up  against  force,  and 
that  is  when  they  try  to  make  us  commit  an  act  prejudi- 
cial to  the  nation,  for  we  have  no  right  to  set  our  per- 
sonal interest  before  the  public  interest. 

But  then,  such  was  not  the  opinion  of  my  uncle.  As 
he  stood  firm  in  his  refusal,  M.  de  Cambyse  had  him 
seized  by  his  valets  and  ordered  them  to  return  to  the 
castle.  Benjamin,  pulled  in  front  and  pushed  behind, 
and  entangled  with  his  sword,  protested  nevertheless 
with  all  his  might  against  the  violence  to  which  they 
subjected  him,  and  still  found  a  way  to  distribute  a  few 
blows  right  and  left.  There  were  some  peasants  at 
work  in  the  neighboring  fields :  my  uncle  appealed  to 
them  for  help  ;  but  they  were  careful  not  to  allow  the 
justice  of  his  appeals,  and  even  laughed  at  his  martyr- 
dom in  order  to  toady  to  the  Marquis. 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  117 

When  they  had  reached  the  castle  yard,  M.  de  Cam- 
byse  ordered  that  the  gate  be  closed.  He  had  the  bell 
rung  to  summon  all  his  people ;  they  brought  two  arm- 
chairs, one  for  him  and  one  for  his  steward,  and  he 
began  with  this  man  a  semblance  of  deliberation  as  to 
the  fate  of  my  poor  uncle.  He,  in  presence  of  this 
parody  of  justice,  maintained  a  steadily  firm  attitude, 
and  even  kept  his  scornful  and  jeering  air. 

The  worthy  steward  favored  twenty-five  lashes  and 
forty-eight  hours  in  the  old  dungeon  ;  but  the  Marquis 
was  in  good  humor,  and  even  seemed  to  be  slightly 
under  the  influence  of  wine. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  in  your  defence  ?  "  said 
he  to  Benjamin. 

"Come  with  me,"  answered  the  latter,  "with  your 
sword,  to  a  distance  of  thirty  paces  from  your  castle, 
and  I  will  acquaint  you  with  my  methods  of  defence." 

Then  the  Marquis  rose  and  said : 

"  Justice,  after  having  deliberated,  condemns  the  in- 
dividual here  present  to  kiss  Monsieur  the  Marquis  de 
Cambj'se,  lord  of  all  this  neighborhood,  ex-lieutenant 
of  musketeers,  master  of  the  wolf-hounds  of  the  baili- 
wick of  Clamecy,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  in  a  spot  which  my 
aforesaid  Lord  de  Cambyse  is  about  to  make  known 
to  him." 

And  at  the  same  time  he  lowered  his  breeches.  The 
flunkeys  understood  his  intention,  and  began  to  ap- 
plaud with  all  their  might  and  to  cry  :  "  Long  live  the 
Marquis  de  Cambyse  !  " 

As  for  my  poor  uncle,  he  roared  with  fury ;  he  said 
later  that  he  feared  a  stroke  of  apoplexy  at  the  time. 
Two  game-keepers  stood  with  guns  levelled,  and  they 


118  MY  TTtfCLE  BENJAMIN. 

had  received  an  order  from  the  Marquis  to  fire  at  his 
first  signal. 

"  One,  two,"  said  the  latter. 

Benjamin  knew  that  the  Marquis  was  a  man  to  exe- 
cute his  threat,  he  did  not  wish  to  run  the  risk  of  a  gun- 
shot, and  ...  a  few  seconds  later  the  justice  of  the 
Marquis  was  satisfied. 

"  All  right,"  'said  M.  de  Cambyse,  "  I  am  content 
with  you ;  now  you  can  boast  of  having  kissed  a  Mar- 
quis." 

He  had  him  escorted  by  two  armed  game-keepers  to 
the  carriage  entrance.  Benjamin  fled  like  a  dog  to 
whose  tail  a  mischievous  urchin  has  fastened  a  tin  can ; 
as  he  was  on  the  road  to  Corvol,  he  did  not  give  him- 
self time  to  change  his  direction,  and  went  straight  to 
M.  Minxit's. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

M.    MINXIT    PREPARES   FOB   WAR. 

Now,  M.  MINXIT  had  been  informed,  I  know  not  by 
whom, —  by  rumor  doubtless,  which  meddles  with  every- 
thing,—  that  Benjamin  was  held  a  prisoner  at  Saint- 
Pierre  du  Mont ;  he  knew  no  better  way  of  delivering 
his  friend  than  to  take  the  castle  of  the  Marquis  by 
assault  and  then  level  it  to  the  ground.  Let  those  who 
laugh  find  me  in  history  a  war  more  just.  Where  the 
government  does  not  know  how  to  make  the  laws  re- 
spected, the  citizens  must  do  justice  themselves. 

M.  Minxit's  yard  resembled  a  camp-ground ;  the  mu- 
sicians, on  horseback  and  armed  with  guns  of  all  sorts, 
were  already  arranged  in  line  of  battle ;  the  old  ser- 
geant, who  had  lately  entered  the  doctor's  service,  had 
taken  command  of  this  picked  body.  From  the  middle 
of  the  ranks  rose  a  large  flag  made  out  of  a  window- 
curtain,  on  which  M.  Minxit  had  inscribed  in  printed 
letters,  that  no  one  might  fail  to  see  them :  THE  LIB- 
ERTY OF  BENJAMIN  OR  THE  EARS  OF  M.  DE  CAMBYSE. 
This  was  his  ultimatum. 

In  the  second  line  came  the  infantry,  represented  by 
five  or  six  farm-hands  carrying  their  picks  on  their 
shoulders,  and  four  slaters  of  the  neighborhood  each 
equipped  with  his  ladder. 

The  barouche  represented  the  baggage ;  it  was  loaded 
with  fagots  with  which  to  fill  up  the  moats  of  the  castle, 
which  time  itself  had  filled  in  several  places.  But 


120  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

M.  Minxit  was  bound  to  do  things  regularly;  he  had 
taken  the  further  precaution  of  putting  his  case  of 
instruments  and  a  big  flask  of  rum  in  one  of  the  pockets 
of  the  carriage. 

The  warlike  doctor,  with  feathers  in  his  hat  and  a 
naked  sword  in  his  hand,  wheeled  about  his  troops  and 
hastened  the  preparations  for  departure  with  a  voice  of 
thunder. 

It  is  customary  for  an  army,  before  entering  on  a 
campaign,  to  be  harangued.  M.  Minxit  was  not  a  man 
to  fail  in  this  formality.  Now,  this  is  what  he  said  to 
the  soldiers : 

"  Soldiers,  I  will  not  say  to  you  that  Europe  has  its 
eyes  fixed  upon  you,  that  your  names  will  be  handed 
down  to  posterity,  that  they  will  be  engraved  in  the 
temple  of  glory,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  because  these  phrases 
are  the  empty  and  barren  seeds  thrown  to  nincompoops ; 
but  this  is  what  I  have  to  say : 

"  In  all  wars  soldiers  fight  for  the  benefit  of  the  sov- 
ereign ;  generally  they  have  not  even  the  advantage  of 
knowing  why  they  die ;  but  you  are  going  to  fight  in 
your  own  interest  and  in  the  interest  of  your  wives  and 
children, —  those  of  you  who  have  any.  M.  Benjamin, 
whom  you  all  have  the  honor  to  know,  is  to  become  my 
son-in-law.  In  this  capacity  he  will  reign  with  me  over 
you,  and  when  I  shall  be  no  more,  he  will  be  your 
master ;  he  will  be  under  infinite  obligation  to  you  on 
account  of  the  dangers  which  you  are  to  incur  on  his 
account,  and  he  will  reward  you  generously. 

"  But  it  is  not  only  to  restore  liberty  to  my  son-in- 
law  that  you  have  taken  up  arms :  our  expedition  also 
will  result  in  the  deliverance  of  the  country  from  a 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  121 

tyrant  who  oppresses  it,  who  crushes  your  wheat,  who 
beats  you  when  he  meets  you,  and  who  behaves  very 
badly  with  your  wives.  One  good  reason  is  enough  to 
make  a  Frenchman  fight  courageously ;  you  have  two : 
then  you  are  invincible.  The  dead  shall  have  a  decent 
burial  at  my  expense,  and  the  wounded  shall  be  cared 
for  in  my  house.  Long  live  M.  Benjamin  Rathery ! 
Death  to  Cambyse  !  Destruction  to  his  castle  !  " 

"  Bravo,  Monsieur  Minxit !  "  said  my  uncle,  who  had 
come  in  through  a  back  gate,  as  became  a  conquered 
man.  "  That  was  a  well-prepared  harangue ;  if  you 
had  delivered  it  in  Latin,  I  should  have  thought  that 
you  pillaged  it  from  Titus  Livius." 

At  sight  of  my  uncle  a  general  hurrah  went  up  from 
the  army.  M.  Minxit  gave  the  order  "  Place  rest !  " 
and  took  Benjamin  into  his  dining-room.  The  latter 
gave  an  account  of  his  adventures  in  the  most  circum- 
stantial manner,  and  with  a  fidelity  that  statesmen  do 
not  always  show  in  writing  their  memoirs. 

M.  Minxit  was  horribly  exasperated  at  the  insult 
offered  to  his  son-in-law,  and  ground  all  the  stumps  in 
his  jaw.  At  first  he  could  express  himself  only  in 
curses  ;  but,  when  his  indignation  had  quieted  a  little, 
he  said :  "  Benjamin,  you  are  nimbler  than  I :  you  shall 
take  command  of  the  army,  and  we  will  march  against 
Cambyse's  castle;  where  its  turrets  were,  nettles  and 
quitch-grass  shall  grow." 

"  If  you  say  so,"  said  my  uncle,  "  we  will  level  even 
the  mountain  of  Saint-Pierre  du  Mont;  but,  saving  the 
respect  that  I  owe  to  your  opinion,  I  believe  that  we 
ought  to  act  strategically:  we  will  scale  the  walls  of 
the  castle  by  night ;  we  will  seize  de  Cambyse  and  all 


122  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

his  lackeys  plunged  in  wine  and  sleep,  as  Virgil  says ; 
and  they  will  all  have  to  kiss  us." 

"That's  a  fine  idea,"  answered  M.  Minxit.  "We 
have  a  good  league  and  a  half  to  travel  before  we  reach 
the  place,  and  it  will  be  dark  in  an  hour :  run  and  kiss 
my  daughter,  and  we  will  start." 

"  One  moment,"  said  my  uncle.  "  The  devil !  how 
you  go  on !  I  have  eaten  nothing  to-day,  and  I  should 
rather  like  to  breakfast  before  we  start." 

"  Then,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "  I  will  give  the  order  to 
break  ranks,  and  a  ration  of  wine  shall  be  distributed 
to  our  soldiers  to  keep  them  in  breath." 

"  That's  right,"  answered  my  uncle,  "  they  will  have 
time  to  finish  themselves,  while  I  am  taking  my  re- 
freshment." 

Fortunately  for  the  castle  of  the  Marquis,  lawyer 
Page,  who  was  returning  from  a  legal  examination, 
came  to  ask  permission  to  dine  at  M.  Minxit's. 

"You  arrive  opportunely,  Monsieur  Page,"  said  the 
warlike  doctor ;  "  I  am  going  to  enroll  you  in  our  ex- 
pedition." 

"  What  expedition  ?  "  said  Page,  who  had  not  studied 
the  right  to  make  war. 

Then  my  uncle  related  his  adventure  and  the  way  in 
which  he  proposed  to  avenge  himself. 

"  Take  care,"  said  lawyer  Page ;  "  the  thing  is  more 
serious  than  you  think.  In  the  first  place,  as  to  suc- 
cess, how  do  you  hope  with  seven  or  eight  cripples  to 
overcome  a  garrison  of  thirty  domestics  commanded  by 
a  lieutenant  of  musketeers  ?  " 

"  Twenty  men  and  all  valid,  Monsieur  attorney,"  said 
M.  Minxit. 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  123 

"Very  well,"  said  lawyer  Page,  coldly;  "but  the 
castle  of  M.  de  Cambyse  is  surrounded  by  walls ;  will 
those  walls  tumble,  like  those  of  Jericho,  at  the  sound 
of  cymbals  and  bass-drum?  Suppose,  however,  that 
you  take  the  castle  of  the  Marquis  by  assault :  it  un- 
doubtedly will  be  a  fine  feat  of  arms ;  but  this  exploit 
is  not  calculated  to  win  for  you  the  cross  of  Saint  Louis ; 
where  you  see  only  a  good  bit  of  fun  and  legitimate 
reprisals,  justice  will  see  a  case  of  breaking  and  enter- 
ing, a  scaling  of  walls,  a  violation  of  domicile,  a  night 
attack,  and  all  these,  furthermore,  against  a  Marquis. 
The  least  of  these  things  involves  the  penalty  of  the 
galleys,  I  warn  you ;  you  will  be  obliged  therefore  after 
your  victory  to  make  up  your  mind  to  leave  the  country, 
and  that  to  what  end  ?  Simply  to  force  a  Marquis  to 
kiss  you. 

"When  one  can  avenge  himself  without  risk  and 
without  damage,  I  admit  vengeance ;  but  to  avenge 
one's  self  to  one's  own  detriment  is  a  ridiculous  thing, 
an  act  of  folly.  You  say,  Benjamin,  that  you  have  been 
insulted;  but  what  is  an  insult?  Almost  always  an 
act  of  brutality  committed  by  the  stronger  to  the  preju- 
dice of  the  weaker.  Now,  how  can  another's  brutality 
damage  your  honor  ?  Is  it  your  fault  if  this  man  is  a 
miserable  savage,  who  knows  no  other  right  than  might  ? 
Are  you  responsible  for  his  cowardice  ?  If  a  tile  should 
fall  on  your  head,  would  you  run  to  break  it  into  pieces  ? 
Would  you  think  yourself  insulted  by  a  dog  who  had 
bitten  you,  and  would  you  challenge  him  to  a  single 
combat,  like  that  of  the  poodle  of  Montargis  with  the 
assassin  of  his  master  ?  If  the  insult  dishonors  anyone, 
it  is  the  insulting  party :  all  honest  people  are  on  the 


124  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

side  of  the  insulted.  When  a  butcher  maltreats  a  sheep, 
tell  me,  are  we  indignant  at  the  sheep  ? 

"If  the  evil  that  you  wish  to  do  to  your  insulter 
would  cure  you  of  that  which  he  has  done  to  you,  I 
could  understand  your  thirst  for  revenge ;  but  if  you 
are  the  weaker,  you  will  bring  down  upon  yourself  new 
cruelties ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  you  are  the  stronger,  you 
have  still  to  take  the  trouble  to  fight  your  adversary. 
Thus  the  man  who  avenges  himself  always  plays  the 
rdle  of  a  dupe.  The  precept  of  Jesus  Christ  Avhich  tells 
us  to  forgive  those  who  have  offended  us  is  not  only  a 
fine  moral  precept,  but  also  sensible  advice.  From  all 
which  I  conclude  that  you  will  do  well,  my  dear  Ben- 
jamin, to  forget  the  honor  that  the  Marquis  has  done 
you,  and  to  drink  with  us  until  night  to  drown  this 
recollection." 

"For  my  part,  I  am  not  at  all  of  cousin  Page's 
opinion.  It  is  always  pleasant  and  sometimes  useful 
to  loyally  return  the  evil  that  has  been  done  us :  it  is 
a  lesson  that  we  give  to  the  wicked.  It  is  good  that 
they  should  know  that  it  is  at  their  own  risk  and  peril 
that  they  abandon  themselves  to  their  mischievous  in- 
stincts. To  leave  undisturbed  the  viper  that  has  bitten 
you  when  you  might  crush  it,  and  to  forgive  the  wicked, 
is  the  same  thing.  Generosity  in  such  a  case  is  not  only 
stupidity,  it  is  a  wrong  done  to  society.  Though  Jesus 
Christ  said :  '  Forgive  your  enemies,'  Saint  Peter  cut  off 
Malchus's  ear ;  these  things  compensate  each  other." 

My  uncle  was  as  obstinate  as  if  he  had  been  the  son 
of  a  horse  and  an  ass,  and  for  that  matter  obstinacy  is 
an  hereditary  vice  in  our  family :  nevertheless  he  agreed 
that  lawyer  Page  was  right. 

"I  believe,  Monsieur  Minxit,"  said  he,  "  that  you  will 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  125 

do  very  well  to  put  your  sword  back  in  the  scabbard 
and  your  plumed  hat  in  its  box.  One  should  make  war 
only  for  extremely  serious  reasons,  and  the  king  who 
unnecessarily  drags  a  part  of  his  people  to  those  vast 
slaughter-houses  known  as  battle-fields  is  an  assassin. 
Perhaps  you  would  be  flattered,  Monsieur  Minxit,  to 
take  rank  among  the  heroes ;  but  what  is  the  glory  of 
a  general  ?  Cities  in  ruins,  villages  in  ashes,  countries 
ravaged,  women  abandoned  to  the  brutality  of  the  sol- 
dier, children  led  away  captive,  casks  of  wine  staved  in 
in  the  cellars.  Have  you  not  read  Fe'nelon,  Monsieur 
Minxit?  All  these  things  are  atrocious,  and  I  shudder 
at  the  very  thought  of  them." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  answered  Monsieur 
Minxit;  "this  is  a  question  only  of  a  few  blows  of  a 
pick-axe  at  some  old  crumbling  walls." 

"Well,"  said  my  uncle,  "why  take  the  trouble  to 
knock  them  down  when  they  are  so  willing  to  fall  of 
themselves?  Believe  me,  restore  peace  to  this  beautiful 
country ;  I  should  be  a  coward  and  a  wretch  if  I  should 
suffer  you,  in  order  to  avenge  an  injury  wholly  personal 
to  myself,  to  expose  yourself  to  the  manifold  dangers 
that  must  result  from  our  expedition." 

"But  I  too,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "have  some  personal 
injuries  to  avenge  on  this  country  squire ;  he  once  sent 
me,  out  of  derision,  a  horse's  urine  to  consult  for  human 
urine." 

"A  fine  reason  for  risking  six  years  in  the  galleys! 
No,  Monsieur  Minxit,  posterity  would  not  absolve  you. 
If  you  will  not  think  of  yourself,  think  of  your  daugh- 
ter, of  your  dear  Arabelle:  what  pleasure  would  she 
take  in  making  such  good  cream  cheeses,  if  you  were 
no  longer  here  to  eat  them?" 


126  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

This  appeal  to  the  paternal  feelings  of  the  old  doctor 
had  its  effect. 

"At  least,"  said  he,  "you  promise  me  that  justice 
shall  be  done  to  M.  de  Cambyse  for  his  insolence ;  for 
you  are  my  son-in-law,  and  from  this  time  forth,  where 
honor  is  concerned,  we  are  as  one  man  instead  of  two." 

"Oh!  rest  easy  as  to  that,  Monsieur  Minxit,  I  shall 
always  have  an  eye  open  for  the  Marquis.  I  shall 
watch  him  with  the  patient  attention  of  a  cat  that 
watches  a  mouse ;  some  day  or  other  I  shall  catch  him 
alone  and  without  an  escort ;  then  he  will  have  to  cross 
his  noble  sword  with  my  rapier,  or  else  I  will  beat  him 
to  my  satisfaction.  I  cannot  swear,  like  the  old  knights, 
to  let  my  beard  grow  or  to  eat  hard  bread  until  I  have 
avenged  myself,  because  one  of  these  things  would  not 
be  fitting  in  our  profession  and  the  other  is  contrary  to 
my  temperament ;  but  I  swear  not  to  become  your  son- 
in-law  until  the  insult  that  has  been  offered  me  shall 
have  been  gloriously  atoned  for." 

"No,  no,"  answered  M.  Minxit;  "you  go  too  far, 
Benjamin;  I  do  not  accept  this  impious  oath;  you 
must,  on  the  contrary,  marry  my  daughter ;  you  will 
avenge  yourself  as  well  afterward  as  before." 

"Do  you  think  so,  Monsieur  Minxit?  From  the 
moment  that  I  must  fight  to  the  death  with  the  Marquis, 
my  life  no  longer  belongs  to  me ;  I  cannot  allow  my- 
self to  marry  your  daughter,  simply  perhaps  to  leave 
her  a  widow  on  the  day  after  her  wedding." 

The  good  doctor  tried  to  shake  my  uncle's  resolution, 
but,  seeing  that  he  could  not  succeed,  he  decided  to  go 
change  his  costume  and  disband  his  army.  Thus  ended 
this  great  expedition,  which  cost  humanity  little  blood, 
but  M.  Minxit  much  wine. 


CHAPTER   X. 

HOW    MY    UNCLB    MADE    THE   MARQUIS    KISS    HIM. 

BENJAMIN  had  slept  at  Corvol. 

The  next  day,  as  he  was  leaving  the  house  with 
M.  Minxit,  the  first  person  whom  they  saw  was  Fata. 
The  latter,  who  did  not  feel  a  clear  conscience,  would 
rather  have  met  two  big  wolves  in  his  path  than  my 
uncle  and  M.  Minxit.  Still,  as  he  could  not  run  away, 
he  decided  to  put  the  best  face  he  could  on  the  matter, 
and  approached  my  uncle. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Monsieur  Rathery  ?  How  is  your 
health,  honorable  Monsieur  Minxit  ?  Well,  Monsieur 
Benjamin,  how  did  you  get  out  of  your  difficulty  with 
our  Gessler?  I  was  terribly  afraid  that  he  might  serve 
you  a  bad  trick,  and  I  did  not  close  my  eyes  all  night." 

"Fata,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "keep  your  obsequiousness 
for  the  Marquis  when  you  shall  meet  him.  Is  it  true 
that  you  told  M.  de  Cambyse  that  you  no  longer  know 
Benjamin  ?  " 

"I  do  not  remember  that,  my  good  Monsieur 
Minxit." 

"Is  it  true  that  you  told  the  same  Marquis  that  I 
was  not  a  man  to  associate  with?" 

"I  could  not  have  said  that,  my  dear  Monsieur 
Minxit ;  you  know  how  much  I  esteem  you,  my  friend." 

"I  affirm  on  my  honor  that  he  said  both  those 
things,"  said  my  uncle,  with  the  icy  sang-froid  of  a 
judge. 


128  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  Very  well,"  said  M.  Minxit ;  "  then  we  will  settle 
his  account." 

"Fata,"  said  Benjamin,  "I  warn  you  that  M.  Miuxit 
desires  to  flog  you.  Here,  then,  is  my  switch ;  for  the 
honor  of  the  profession,  defend  yourself;  a  doctor 
cannot  allow  himself  to  be  beaten  like  an  ass." 

"  The  law  is  on  my  side,"  said  Fata ;  "  if  he  strikes 
me,  every  blow  will  cost  him  dear." 

"I  sacrifice  a  thousand  francs,"  said  M.  Minxit, 
making  his  whip  whistle  in  the  air ;  "  take  that,  Fata, 
fatorum,  destiny,  providence  of  the  ancients !  and  that, 
and  that,  and  that,  and  that ! " 

The  peasants  had  come  to  their  door-ways  to  see 
Fata  flogged ;  for  —  I  say  it  to  the  shame  of  our  poor 
humanity  —  nothing  is  so  dramatic  as  a  man  ill-treated. 

" Gentlemen,"  cried  Fata,  "I  place  myself  under  your 
protection." 

But  no  one  left  his  place.  For  M.  Minxit,  through 
the  consideration  which  he  enjoyed,  had  almost  the 
right  of  administering  petty  justice  in  the  village. 

"  Then,"  continued  the  unfortunate  Fata,  "  I  call  you 
to  witness  the  violence  practised  on  my  person ;  I  am  a 
doctor  of  medicine." 

"  Wait,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "  I  will  strike  harder,  in 
order  that  those  who  do  not  see  the  blows  may  hear 
them,  and  that  you  may  have  some  scars  to  show  to  the 
bailiff." 

And  in  fact  he  did  strike  harder,  ferocious  plebeian 
that  he  was. 

"Rest  easy,  Minxit,"  said  Fata,  as  he  went  away, 
"you  will  have  to  deal  with  M.  de  Cambyse :  he  will 
not  suffer  me  to  be  maltreated  because  I  salute  him," 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  129 

"  You  will  say  to  Carabyse,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "  that  I 
mock  at  him,  that  I  have  more  men  than  he,  that  my 
house  is  more  solid  than  his  castle,  and  that,  if  he  wishes 
to  come  to-morrow  to  the  plateau  of  Fertiant  with  his 
people,  I  am  his  man." 

Let  us  say  directly,  to  end  with  this  affair,  that  Fata 
had  M.  Minxit  cited  before  the  bailiff  to  answer  for  the 
violence  committed  on  his  person  ;  but  that  he  could 
find  no  witness  to  testify  to  the  fact,  although  the 
thing  had  happened  in  the  presence  of  a  hundred  in- 
dividuals. 

When  my  uncle  reached  Clamecy,  his  sister  handed 
him  a  letter  postmarked  Paris,  of  the  following  tenor :  — 

"  Monsieur  Rathery : 

"I  have  it  on  good  authority  that  you  intend  to 
marry  Mile.  Minxit;  I  expressly  forbid  you  to  do  so. 

"VlCOMTE  DE    PONT-CASSE." 

My  uncle  sent  Gaspard  to  get  a  sheet  of  royal  writ- 
ing paper ;  he  took  Machecourt's  ink-stand,  and  straight- 
way answered  this  missive. 

"  Monsieur  Vicomte : 

"  You  may  go 

"  Accept  the  assurance  of  the  respectful  sentiments 
with  which  I  have  the  honor  to  be 

"  Your  humble  and  devoted  servant, 

"B.  RATHERY." 

Whither  did  my  uncle  wish  to  send  his  vicomte?  I 
do  not  know.  I  have  made  useless  inquiries  to  pene- 
trate the  mystery  of  this  reticence ;  but  at  any  rate  I 
have  given  you  an  idea  of  the  firmness,  clearness,  nerve, 


130  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

and  precision  of  his  style  when  he  saw  fit  to  take  the 
trouble  to  write. 

Meanwhile,  my  uncle  had  not  abandoned  his  ideas 
of  revenge ;  quite  the  contrary.  The  following  Friday, 
after  having  visited  his  patients,  he  sharpened  his  sword 
and  put  on  Machecourt's  overcoat  over  his  red  coat. 
As  he  did  not  wish  to  sacrifice  his  cue,  and  as  he  could 
not  put  it  in  his  pocket,  he  hid  it  under  his  old  wig, 
and  went  thus  disguised  to  watch  his  Marquis.  He 
established  his  headquarters  in  a  sort  of  wine-shop  situ- 
ated on  the  edge  of  the  Clainecy  road  opposite  the 
castle  of  M.  de  Cambyse.  The  proprietor  of  the  estab- 
lishment had  just  broken  his  leg.  My  uncle,  always 
prompt  to  come  to  the  aid  of  his  neighbor  when  he  was 
fractured,  made  known  his  profession  and  offered  the 
help  of  his  art  to  the  patient.  He  was  authorized  by 
the  afflicted  family  to  put  back  in  their  proper  place 
the  two  fragments  of  the  broken  shinbone ;  which  he 
did  quickly  and  to  the  great  admiration  of  the  two 
grand  lackeys  in  the  livery  of  M.  de  Cambyse,  who 
were  drinking  in  the  wine-shop. 

My  uncle,  when  the  operation  was  finished,  took  up 
his  position  in  an  upper  chamber  of  the  tavern,  directly 
above  the  sign,  and  began  to  observe  the  castle  with  a 
spy-glass,  which  he  had  borrowed  from  M.  Minxit.  He 
had  been  waiting  there  a  good  hoar  and  had  not  yet 
noticed  anything  by  which  he  could  profit,  when  he 
saw  a  lackey  of  M.  de  Cambyse  descending  the  hill  at 
full  speed.  This  man  came  to  the  door  of  the  wine- 
shop, and  asked  if  the  doctor  was  still  there.  Being 
answered  in  the  affirmative  by  the  servant,  he  went  up 
to  my  uncle's  room,  and,  doffing  his  hat  very  low, 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  131 

begged  him  to  give  attendance  on  M.  de  Cambyse,  who 
had  just  swallowed  a  fish-bone.  My  uncle  at  first  was 
tempted  to  refuse.  But  he  reflected  that  this  circum- 
stance might  favor  his  project  of  revenge,  and  he  de- 
cided to  follow  the  domestic. 

The  latter  ushered  him  into  the  chamber  of  the  Mar- 
quis. M.  de  Cambyse  was  in  his  arm-chair,  with  his 
head  resting  on  his  hands,  and  his  elbows  on  his  knees, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  the  victim  of  a  violent  agitation. 
The  Marquise,  a  pretty  brunette  of  twenty-five  years, 
stood  beside  him,  trying  to  reassure  him.  On  the  ar- 
rival of  my  uncle,  the  Marquis  raised  his  head  and 
said: 

"At  dinner  I  swallowed  a  fish-bone,  which  has  stuck 
in  my  throat.  I  had  heard  that  you  were  in  the  village, 
and  I  have  sent  for  you,  although  I  have  not  the  honor 
of  knowing  you,  persuaded  that  you  will  not  refuse  me 
your  aid." 

"We  owe  that  to  everybody,"  answered  my  uncle, 
with  an  icy  sang-froid ;  "  to  the  rich  as  well  as  to  the 
poor,  to  gentlemen  as  well  as  to  peasants,  to  the  wicked 
as  well  as  to  the  just." 

"This  man  frightens  me,"  said  the  Marquis  to  his 
wife,  "make  him  go  out." 

"But,"  said  the  Marquise,  "you  know  very  well  that 
no  doctor  will  venture  to  come  to  the  castle ;  since  you 
have  this  one  here,  try  at  least  to  keep  him." 

The  Marquis  surrendered  to  this  opinion.  Benjamin 
examined  the  sick  man's  throat,  and  shook  his  head 
with  an  air  of  anxiety.  The  Marquis  turned  pale. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  he;  "can  the  trouble 
be  more  serious  than  we  had  supposed?" 


132  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMOf. 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  have  supposed,"  an- 
swered Benjamin,  in  a  solemn  voice,  "  but  the  trouble 
will  indeed  be  very  serious,  if  the  necessary  measures 
are  not  promptly  taken  to  combat  it.  You  have  swal- 
lowed a  bone  from  a  salmon,  and  the  bone  is  from  the 
tail,  the  very  place  where  they  are  most  poisonous." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  astonished  Marquise;  "but 
how  did  you  find  that  out?" 

"  By  inspection  of  the  throat,  Madame." 

The  fact  is  that  he  had  found  it  out  in  a  very  natural 
way.  In  passing  by  the  dining-room,  the  door  of  which 
was  open,  he  had  seen  on  the  table  a  salmon,  of  which 
only  the  tail  was  missing,  and  he  had  inferred  that  to 
the  tail  of  this  fish  had  belonged  the  swallowed  fish- 
bone. 

"  We  have  never  heard,"  said  the  Marquise,  in  a  voice 
trembling  with  fright,  "that  the  bones  of  the  salmon 
were  poisonous." 

"  That  does  not  alter  the  fact  that  they  are  exceed- 
ingly so,"  said  Benjamin,  "and  I  should  be  sorry  to 
have  Madame  Marquise  doubt  it,  for  I  should  be  obliged 
to  contradict  her.  The  bones  of  the  salmon  contain, 
like  the  leaves  of  the  manchineel  tree,  a  substance  so 
bitter  and  corrosive  that,  if  this  bone  should  remain  a 
half-hour  longer  in  the  throat  of  Monsieur  Marquis,  it 
would  produce  an  inflammation  which  I  could  not  sub- 
due, and  the  operation  would  become  impossible." 

"  In  that  case,  doctor,  operate  directly,  I  beg  of  you," 
said  the  Marquis,  more  and  more  frightened. 

"One  moment,"  said  my  uncle;  "the  thing  cannot 
proceed  as  rapidly  as  you  desire ;  there  is  first  a  little 
formality  to  be  fulfilled." 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  133 

"  Fulfil  it,  then,  very  quietly,  and  begin." 

"But  this  formality  concerns  you;  you  alone  must 
accomplish  it." 

"  Then  tell  me  at  least  of  what  it  consists,  surgeon  of 
misfortune  !  Do  you  wish  to  leave  me  to  die  for  want 
of  acting?" 

"I  still  hesitate,"  continued  Benjamin,  slowly. 
"  How  shall  I  venture  such  a  proposition  as  that  which 
I  have  to  make  to  you  ?  With  a  Marquis !  With  a 
man  who  descends  in  a  direct  line  from  Cambyse,  king 
of  Egypt!" 

"  I  believe,  wretch,  that  you  are  taking  advantage  of 
my  position  to  make  sport  of  me,"  cried  the  Marquis, 
the  violence  of  his  character  coming  to  the  surface. 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  answered  Benjamin, 
coldly.  "  Do  you  remember  a  man  whom  three  months 
ago  you  had  dragged  to  your  castle  by  your  myrmidons 
because  he  did  not  salute  you,  and  upon  whom  you  in- 
flicted the  most  outrageous  affront  that  one  man  can 
inflict  upon  another  ?  " 

"  A  man  whom  I  forced  to  kiss  ....  In  fact,  you  are 
the  man.  I  recognize  you  by  your  five  feet  ten  inches." 

"  Well,  the  man  of  five  feet  ten  inches,  this  man 
whom  you  regarded  as  an  insect,  as  a  grain  of  dust 
whom  you  would  never  meet  except  under  your  feet, 
now  demands  of  you  reparation  of  the  insult  which  you 
have  offered  him." 

"My  God!  I  ask  nothing  better;  fix  the  sum  at 
which  you  value  your  honor,  and  I  will  have  it  counted 
out  to  you  directly." 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  Marquis  de  Cambyse,  that  you 
are  rich  enough  to  pay  for  the  honor  of  an  honest  man  ? 


134  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

Do  you  take  me  for  a  lawyer  ?  Do  you  think  that  I 
would  submit  to  an  insult  for  money?  No,  LO,  it  is  a 
reparation  of  honor  that  I  want.  A  reparation  of 
honor!  Do  you  understand,  Marquis  de  Cambyse  ?" 

"  Well,  so  be  it,"  said  M.  de  Cambyse,  whose  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  hands  of  his  clock,  and  who  saw  with 
terror  the  fatal  half-hour  slipping  by;  "I  will  declare 
in  presence  of  Madame  Marquise,  I  will  declare  it  in 
writing,  if  you  say  so,  that  you  are  a  man  of  honor,  and 
that  I  did  wrong  in  offending  you." 

"The  devil!  you  have  a  summary  way  of  paying 
your  debts.  Do  you  think,  then,  that,  when  you 
have  insulted  an  honest  man,  you  have  only  to  admit 
that  you  were  wrong,  and  that  all  is  mended?  To- 
morrow you  would  laugh  heartily  in  the  company  of 
your  country  squires  at  the  simpleton  who  had  con- 
tented himself  with  this  semblance  of  satisfaction.  No, 
no,  it  is  the  penalty  of  retaliation  to  which  you  must 
submit;  the  weak  man  of  yesterday  has  become  the 
strong  man  of  to-day ;  the  worm  has  turned  into  a  ser- 
pent. You  shall  not  escape  my  justice,  as  you  escape 
that  of  the  bailiff;  there  is  no  protection  that  can 
defend  you  against  me.  I  have  kissed  you ;  you  must 
kiss  me." 

"Have  you,  then,  forgotten,  wretch,  that  I  am  the 
Marquis  de  Cambyse  ?  " 

"  You  forgot  that  I  was  Benjamin  Rathery.  An  in. 
suit  is  like  God ;  all  men  are  equal  before  it.  There  is 
neither  great  insulter  nor  little  insulted." 

"  Lackey,"  said  the  Marquis,  whose  wrath  made  him 
forget  the  supposed  danger  that  he  incurred,  "take  this 
man  into  the  yard,  and  have  him  given  a  hundred 
lashes;  I  want  to  hear  him  howl  from  here." 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  135 

"  Very  well,"  said  my  uncle,  "  but  in  ten  minutes  the 
operation  will  have  become  impossible,  and  in  an  hour 
you  will  be  dead." 

"  But  can  I  not  send  to  Varzy  by  my  footman  for  a 
surgeon  ?  " 

"  If  your  footman  finds  the  surgeon  at  home,  he  will 
arrive  just  in  time  to  see  you  die,  and  bestow  his  care 
upon  Madame  Marquise." 

"  But  it  is  not  possible,"  said  the  Marquise,  "  that 
you  should  remain  inflexible.  Is  there  not,  then,  more 
pleasure  in  forgiveness  than  in  vengeance  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Madame,"  replied  Benjamin,  bowing  gracefully, 
"  I  beg  you  to  believe  that,  if  it  was  from  you  that  I 
had  received  such  an  insult,  I  should  harbor  no  grudge 
against  you." 

Madame  de  Cambyse  smiled,  and,  understanding  that 
there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  with  my  uncle,  she  her- 
self urged  her  husband  to  submit  to  necessity,  and 
called  his  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  had  but  five  min- 
utes left  in  which  to  make  up  his  mind. 

The  Marquis,  overcome  by  terror,  made  a  sign  to  the 
two  lackeys  who  were  in  his  room  to  retire. 

"  No,"  said  the  inflexible  Benjamin,  "  that  is  not  what 
I  desire.  Lackey,  you  will  go,  on  the  contrary,  to  notify 
the  people  of  M.  de  Cambyse  to  gather  here  in  his 
name.  They  witnessed  the  insult ;  they  must  witness 
the  reparation.  Madame  Marquise  alone  can  be  per- 
mitted to  retire." 

The  Marquis  glanced  at  the  clock,  and  saw  that  there 
were  but  three  minutes  left.  As  the  lackey  did  not 
budge,  he  said : 

"  Hurry,  Pierre,  and  execute  Monsieur's  orders ;  do 


136  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

you  not  see  that  he  alone  is  master  here  for  the  mo- 
ment?" 

The  domestics  arrived  one  after  another ;  none  were 
lacking  but  the  steward ;  but  Benjamin,  unrelenting  to 
the  end,  would  not  begin  until  he  was  present. 

"Well,"  said  Benjamin,  "now  we  are '  quits,  and  all 
is  forgotten ;  therefore  I  will  conscientiously  attend  to 
your  throat." 

He  extracted  the  bone  very  quickly  and  well,  and 
placed  it  in  the  hands  of  the  Marquis.  While  the  latter 
was  examining  it  with  curiosity,  he  said  : 

"I  must  give  you  some  air." 

Then  he  opened  a  window,  leaped  into  the  yard,  and 
with  two  or  three  strides  of  his  long  legs  reached  the 
carriage-entrance.  While  he  was  hurrying  down  the 
hillside,  the  Marquis  stood  at  a  window,  shouting  : 

"  Stop,  Monsieur  Benjamin  Rathery ;  pray  stop ; 
come  back  and  receive  my  thanks  and  those  of  Ma- 
dame Marquise.  I  must  pay  you  for  your  operation." 

But  Benjamin  was  not  a  man  to  be  caught  by  these 
fine  words.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  met  the  foot- 
man of  the  Marquis. 

"  Landry,"  said  he  to  him,  "  my  compliments  to  Ma- 
dame Marquise,  and  reassure  M.  de  Cambyse  in  regard 
to  salmon  bones ;  they  are  no  more  poisonous  than 
those  of  a  pike ;  only  they  should  not  be  swallowed. 
Let  him  keep  his  throat  wrapped  in  a  poultice,  and  in 
two  or  three  days  he  will  be  cured." 

As  soon  as  my  uncle  was  out  of  reach  of  the  Mar- 
quis, he  turned  to  the  right,  crossed  the  meadows  of 
Flez  and  the  thousand  brooks  which  intersected  them, 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  137 

and  went  to  Corvol.  He  desired  to  regale  M.  Minxit 
with  the  first  news  of  his  expedition  ;  he  saw  him  from 
a  distance  standing  before  his  door,  and  waving  his 
handkerchief  as  a  sign  of  triumph,  he  shouted  : 

"  We  are  revenged." 

The  good  man  ran  to  meet  him,  with  all  the  speed 
of  his  short  fat  legs,  and  threw  himself  into  his  arms 
with  the  same  effusion  as  if  he  had  been  his  son  ;  my 
uncle  said  that  he  even  saw  two  big  tears  roll  down 
his  cheeks,  which  he  tried  to  hide.  The  old  doctor, 
whose  nature  was  no  less  proud  and  irascible  than 
Benjamin's,  was  exultant  with  joy.  On  reaching  the 
house  he  told  the  musicians,  in  order  to  celebrate  the 
glory  of  the  day,  to  execute  trumpet-flourishes  until 
night,  and  then  he  ordered  them  to  get  drunk, —  an 
order  which  was  punctually  executed. 


CHAPTER   XL 

HOW   MY   UNCLE    HELPED    HIS    TAILOR    TO    SEIZE    HIM. 

NEVERTHELESS,  Benjamin  came  back  to  Clamecy  a 
little  disturbed  at  his  own  audacity.  But  the  next  day 
the  footman  of  the  castle  delivered  to  him  in  behalf  of 
his  master,  together  with  a  considerable  sum  of  money, 
a  note  that  read  as  follows : 

"  The  Marquis  de  Cambyse  begs  M.  Benjamin  Ra- 
thery  to  forget  what  has  passed  between  them,  and  to 
receive,  in  payment  for  the  operation  which  he  has  so 
skilfully  executed,  the  insignificant  sum  which  he  sends 
him."  " 

"  Oh,"  said  my  uncle,  after  reading  this  letter,  "  this 
good  lord  would  like  to  purchase  my  discretion  ;  he 
even  has  the  honesty  to  pay  me  in  advance ;  it  is  a  pity 
that  he  does  not  treat  all  his  trades-people  in  the  same 
way.  If  I  had  simply,  vulgarly,  and  without  any  pre- 
liminary extracted  the  fish-bone  that  he  had  planted  in 
his  throat,  he  would  have  put  six  francs  in  my  hand 
and  sent  me  to  eat  a  bite  in  the  kitchen.  The  moral  of 
this  is  that  with  the  great  it  is  better  to  be  feared  than  to 
be  loved.  May  God  damn  me  if  during  my  life  I  ever 
fail  in  this  principle  ! 

"  Nevertheless,  as  I  have  no  intention  of  being  dis- 
creet, I  cannot  conscientiously  keep  the  money  which 
he  sends  me  as  the  wages  of  my  discretion ;  one  should 
be  honest  with  everybody,  or  else  have  nothing  to  do 
with  them.  But  let  us  count  the  money  in  this  bag; 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  139 

let  us  see  how  much  he  pays  for  the  operation,  and  how 
much  he  gives  for  silence :  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ! 
Thunder!  Cambyse  is  generous;  he  will  allow  only 
twelve  sous,  without  any  guarantee  of  not  being  beaten, 
to  the  thrasher  who  swings  his  flail  from  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  until  eight  o'clock  at  night,  and  he  pays 
me  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  work :  there's  magnificence  for  you ! 

"  For  the  extraction  of  this  bone  M.  Minxit  would 
have  asked  a  hundred  francs;  but  he  practises  medi- 
cine on  the  grand  orchestra  and  the  grand  spectacle 
plan ;  he  has  four  horses  and  twelve  musicians  to  feed. 
For  me,  who  have  to  support  only  my  case  of  instru- 
ments and  my  hypostasis, —  an  hypostasis,  it  is  true,  of 
five  feet  nine  inches, — two  pistoles  is  all  that  that  is 
worth.  So,  taking  twenty  from  one  hundred  and  fifty, 
there  are  thirteen  pistoles  to  send  back  to  the  Marquis  ; 
I  almost  feel  remorse  at  taking  any  of  his  money.  This 
operation  for  which  I  charge  him  twenty  francs  I  would 
not  have  failed  to  perform  for  a  thousand  francs, —  a 
thousand  francs  to  be  paid  of  course  after  my  death. 
This  poor  grand  lord,  how  wretched  and  pitiful  he 
looked  with  his  pale  and  suppliant  face  and  his  salmon- 
bone  in  his  throat !  How  nobility  apologized  in  his 
person  to  the  people  represented  in  mine  !  He  would 
willingly  have  allowed  me  to  fasten  -his  escutcheon  be- 
hind his  back.  If  at  that  time  there  were  in  his  salon 
any  portraits  of  his  ancestors,  their  brows  must  still  be 
red  with  shame.  I  would  like  the  little  spot  where  he 
kissed  me  to  be  separated  from  my  person  after  my 
death,  and  transferred  to  the  Pantheon  .  .  .  when  the 
people  have  a  Pantheon,  I  mean  of  course. 


140  MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

"  But,  Marquis,  you  are  not  to  be  let  off  in  this  way : 
before  three  days  the  bailiwick  will  know  your  advent- 
ure ;  I  even  intend  to  have  it  related  to  posterity  by 
Millot-Rataut,  our  maker  of  songs ;  he  must  manufact- 
ure for  me  on  this  subject  half  a  handful  of  Alexandrines. 
As  for  these  twenty  francs,  they  are  money  found;  I 
do  not  wish  them  to  pass  through  my  dear  sister's  hands. 
To-morrow  is  Sunday;  to-morrow,  then,  I  give  my 
friends  with  this  money  a  luncheon  such  as  I  have 
never  given  them,  a  luncheon  for  which  I  will  pay  cash. 
It  is  well  to  let  them  know  how  a  man  of  wit  can 
avenge  himself  without  recourse  to  his  sword." 

The  thing  thus  arranged,  my  uncle  began  to  write 
to  the  Marquis  to  announce  the  return  of  his  money. 
I  should  be  delighted  if  I  could  give  my  readers  a  new 
specimen  of  my  uncle's  epistolary  style.  Unhappily, 
his  letter  is  not  to  be  found  among  the  historical  docu- 
ments which  my  grandfather  has  handed  down  to  us ; 
perhaps  my  uncle  the  tobacco-merchant  made  a  cornet 
of  it. 

While  Benjamin  was  in  the  act  of  writing,  his  tailor 
came  in  with  a  bill  in  his  hand. 

"  What's  that  ? "  said  Benjamin,  laying  his  pen  on 
the  table;  "your  bill  again,  Monsieur  Bonteint,  forever 
your  eternal  bill ?  My  God!  you  have  presented  it  to 
me  so  many  times  that  I  know  it  by  heart:  six  ells  of 
scarlet  full  width,  with  ten  ells  of  lining  and  three  sets 
of  carved  buttons,  isn't  that  right  ?  " 

"  That's  right,  Monsieur  Rathery,  exactly  right ;  a 
total  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ten  sous  six 
deniers.  May  I  be  excluded  from  Paradise  as  a  rascal 
if  I  do  not  lose  at  least  a  hundred  francs  on  this  trans- 
action ! " 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  141 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  rejoined  ray  uncle,  "  why  con- 
tinue to  waste  your  time  in  scribbling  off  all  these  ugly 
bits  of  paper?  You  know  very  well,  Monsieur  Bon- 
teint, that  I  never  have  any  money." 

"  I  see,  on  the  contrary,  Monsieur  Rathery,  that  you 
have  some,  and  that  I  arrive  at  an  opportune  moment. 
Here  on  this  table  is  a  bag  which  must  contain  almost 
the  exact  amount  of  my  bill,  and  if  you  will  permit 
it"... 

"One  moment,"  said  my  uncle,  quickly  laying  his 
hand  on  the  bag ;  "  this  money  does  not  belong  to  me, 
Monsieur  Bonteint.  Here  is  the  very  letter  of  return 
which  I  have  just  written,  and  on  which  you  have 
caused  me  to  make  a  blot.  Here,"  he  added,  offering 
the  letter  to  the  merchant,  "  if  you  wish  to  read  it "... 

"It  is  useless,  Monsieur  Rathery,  utterly  useless. 
All  that  I  want  to  know  is  at  what  time  you  will  have 
some  money  that  belongs  to  you." 

"Alas!  M.  Bonteint,  who  can  foresee  the  future? 
What  you  ask  I  would  very  much  like  to  know  my- 
self." 

"That  being  so,  Monsieur  Rathery,  you  will  not 
blame  me  if  I  go  directly  to  Parlanta  to  tell  him  to 
push  the  suit  that  I  have  begun  against  you." 

"  You  are  in  ill-humor,  respectable  Monsieur  Bon- 
teint. What  sort  of  cloth  clippings  have  you  been 
walking  on  to-day?" 

"  You  must  admit,  Monsieur  Rathery,  that  I  at  least 
have  good  reason  to  be  ill-humored ;  for  three  years  you 
have  owed  me  this  money,  and  you  put  me  off  from 
month  to  month,  on  the  strength  of  I  know  not  what 
epidemic,  of  the  arrival  of  which  I  see  no  sign.  You 


142  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

are  the  cause  of  my  daily  quarrels  with  Madame  Bori- 
teint,  who  reproaches  me  with  not  knowing  how  to  col- 
lect my  bills,  and  who  sometimes  pushes  her  vivacity  to 
the  point  of  calling  me  a  blockhead." 

"Madame  Bonteint  is  surely  a  very  amiable  lady; 
you  are  fortunate,  Monsieur  Bonteint,  in  having  such  a 
wife,  and  I  beg  you  to  present  her  my  compliments  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"  I  thank  you,  Monsieur  Rathery,  but  my  wife  is,  as 
they  say,  something  of  a  Greek ;  she  prefers  money  to 
compliments,  and  she  says  that,  if  you  had  had  to  deal 
with  my  rival  Grophez,  you  would  long  ago  have  been 
in  the  Boutron  Hotel." 

"The  devil  take  it!"  cried  my  uncle,  furious  that 
Bonteint  showed  no  signs  of  retreating,  "it  is  your 
fault  if  I  have  not  settled  with  you ;  all  your  rivals 
have  been  or  are  sick:  Dutorrent  has  had  inflammation 
of  the  chest  twice  this  year ;  Artichaut,  the  typhoid 
fever;  Sergifer  has  the  rheumatism;  Ratine  has  had 
the  diarrhoaa  for  six  months.  But  you  enjoy  perfect 
health;  I  have  had  no  opportunity  of  supplying  you 
any  medicine  ;  you  have  a  complexion  like  one  of  your 
pieces  of  nankeen,  and  Madame  Bonteint  resembles  a 
statuette  made  out  of  fresh  butter.  You  see  I  have 
been  deceived ;  I  thought  that  you  would  be  an  honor 
to  my  clientage  ;  if  I  had  known  then  what  I  know 
now,  I  would  not  have  given  you  my  custom." 

"But,  Monsieur  Rathery,  it  seems  to  me  that  neither 
Madame  Bonteint  or  myself  are  obliged  to  be  sick  in 
order  to  furnish  you  the  means  of  paying  your  bills." 

"And  I  declare  to  you,  Monsieur  Bonteint,  that  you 
are  under  precisely  that  moral  obligation.  How  would 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  143 

you  manage  to  pay  your  bills  if  your  customers  did 
not  wear  coats?  This  obstinacy  in  keeping  your  health 
is  an  abominable  procedure  on  your  part ;  it  is  a  trap 
that  you  have  set  for  me;  you  ought  at  the  present 
hour  to  have  on  my  account-book  an  indebtedness  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  francs ;  hence  I  deduct  from 
your  bill  one  hundred  and  thirty  francs  ten  sous  six 
deniers  for  the  diseases  that  you  ought  to  have  had. 
You  will  admit  that  I  am  reasonable.  You  are  very 
fortunate  in  having  to  pay  for  the  medicine  without 
having  had  to  have  the  doctor,  and  I  know  many  people 
who  would  like  to  be  in  your  place.  So,  then,  if  from 
one  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ten  sous  six  deniers  we 
take  one  hundred  and  thirty  francs  ten  sous  six  de- 
niers, there  is  a  balance  of  twenty  francs  still  due  you  ; 
if  you  wish  them,  there  they  are  ;  I  advise  you  as  a 
friend  to  take  them ;  you  will  not  soon  have  so  good  an 
opportunity  again." 

"I  will  willingly  take  them,"  said  M.  Bonteint,  "as 
an  instalment." 

"  As  a  final  settlement  of  the  account,"  insisted  my 
uncle,  "  and  even  then  I  need  all  my  strength  of  soul 
to  make  this  sacrifice.  I  intended  this  money  for  a 
bachelors'  breakfast,  it  was  even  my  design  to  invite 
you,  although  you  are  the  father  of  a  family." 

"This  is  more  of  your  nonsense,  Monsieur  Rathery; 
I  have  never  been  able  to  get  anything  else  from  you. 
You  know  very  well,  however,  that  I  have  a  seizure 
drawn  up  against  you  in  good  form,  and  that  I  might 
proceed  to  execution  directly." 

"Well,  it  is  precisely  that  of  which  I  complain,  Mon- 
sieur Bonteint;  you  have  no  confidence  in  your  friends; 


144  MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

why  go  to  these  useless  expenses?  Could  you  not 
come  to  me  and  say :  '  Monsieur  Rathery,  it  is  my  in- 
tention to  have  you  seized.'  I  would  have  answered: 
'Seize  me  yourself,  Monsieur  Bonteint;  you  need  no 
sheriff's  officer  for  that ; '  I  will  even  serve  you  as  a 
bailiff's  man,  if  that  will  be  agreeable  to  you;  and 
besides,  there  is  time  enough  yet;  seize  me  on  the  in- 
stant; do  not  stand  on  ceremony;  all  that  I  have  is  at 
your  disposition ;  I  permit  jou.  to  pack  up,  wrap  up, 
and  carry  away  anything  that  you  like." 

"  What !  Monsieur  Rathery,  you  would  be  good 
enough  "... 

"Why,  of  course,  Monsieur  Bonteint,  I  should  be 
delighted  to  be  seized  by  your  hands  ;  I  will  even  help 
you  to  seize  me." 

My  uncle  then  opened  an  old  ruin  of  a  wardrobe,  in 
which  were  still  hanging  on  a  nail  some  bits  of  yellow 
copper  lining,  and,  taking  two  or  three  old  cue-ribbons 
from  a  drawer,  he  said  to  M.  Bonteint,  as  he  offered 
them  to  him : 

"See,  you  will  not  lose  all;  these  articles  will  not 
count  in  the  total ;  I  throw  them  in." 

"Indeed!"  answered  M.  Bonteint. 

"This  red  morocco  portfolio  which  you  see  is  my 
case  of  instruments." 

As  M.  Bonteint  was  about  to  lay  his  hand  on  it, 
Benjamin  said : 

"  Softly ;  the  law  does  not  allow  you  to  touch  that. 
My  instruments  are  the  tools  of  my  profession,  and  I 
ha^e  a  right  to  keep  them." 

"'  But,"  said  M.  Bonteint  . .  . 

**  Here  now  is  a  corkscrew,  with  an  ebony  handle  in- 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  145 

laid  with  silver.  As  for  this  article,"  he  added,  as  he 
put  it  in  his  pocket,  "  I  withdraw  it  from  my  creditors ; 
and  besides^  I  need  it  more  than  you  do." 

"But,"  replied  M.  Bonteint,  "if  you  keep  everything 
that  you  need  more  than  I  do,  I  shall  need  no  cart  in 
which  to  carry  away  my  plunder." 

"One  moment,"  said  my  uncle,  "you  will  lose  noth- 
ing by  waiting.  Here  on  this  shelf  are  some  old  medi- 
cine bottles,  some  of  which  are  cracked  :  I  do  not  guar- 
antee their  integrity;  I  abandon  them  to  you  with  all 
the  spiders  that  are  in  them.  On  this  other  shelf  is  a 
large  stuffed  vulture;  that  will  cost  you  nothing  but 
the  trouble  of  moving  it,  and  it  will  make  a  very  good 
sign  for  you." 

"  Monsieur  Rathery  !  "  said  Bonteint. 

"  Here  is  Machecourt's  wedding  wig ;  I  don't  know 
how  it  happens  to  be  here.  I  do  not  offer  it  to  you,  be- 
cause I  know  that  you  wear  only  a  false  forelock." 

"What  do  you  know  about  it,  Monsieur  Rathery?" 
cried  Bonteint,  getting  more  and  more  irritated. 

"  Here  in  this  bottle,"  continued  my  uncle,  with  im- 
perturbable sang-froid,  "is  a  tapeworm  which  I  have 
preserved  in  spirit  of  wine.  You  can  use  it  to  make 
garters  for  yourself,  Madame  Bonteint,  and  your  chil- 
dren. I  call  your  attention  to  the  fact,  however,  that 
it  would  be  a  pity  to  mutilate  this  beautiful  animal: 
you  can  boast  of  having  in  your  possession  the  longest 
being  in  creation,  not  excepting  the  immense  boa-con- 
strictor. For  the  rest,  you  will  estimate  it  at  what 
value  you  like." 

**  Surely  you  are  making  sport  of  me,  Monsieur  Rath- 
ery ;  all  these  things  have  not  the  slightest  value." 


146  MY  TTNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  I  know  that  very  well,"  said  my  uncle,  coldly,  "  but 
then  you  have  no  bailiff's  man  to  pay.  Now  here,  for 
instance,  is  an  article  worth  in  itself  alone  the  entire 
amount  of  your  bill :  it  is  the  stone  that  I  extracted 
two  or  three  years  ago  from  the  mayor's  bladder ;  you 
can  have  it  carved  into  the  shape  of  a  snuff-box ;  put  a 
band  of  gold  about  it  and  add  a  few  precious  stones, 
and  it  will  make  a  very  pretty  birthday  present  for 
Madame  Bonteint." 

Bonteint,  furious,  started  for  the  door. 

"One  moment,"  said  my  uncle,  catching  hold  of  the 
skirt  of  his  coat.  "  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry,  Monsieur 
Bonteint.  I  have  shown  you  yet  only  the  least  of  my 
treasures.  Stay,  here  is  an  old  engraving  representing 
Hippocrates,  the  father  of  medicine ;  I  guarantee  it  a 
good  likeness;  furthermore,  here  are  three  incomplete 
volumes  of  the  '  Medical  Gazette,'  which  will  entertain 
you  delightfully  during  these  long  winter  evenings." 

"Once  more,  Monsieur  Rathery"  .  .  . 

"Oh!  do  not  be  angry,  papa  Bonteint;  we  have  just 
reached  the  most  valuable  article  among  my  posses- 
sions." 

My  uncle  then  opened  an  old  closet,  and  took  out 
two  red  coats,  which  he  threw  at  M.  Bonteint's  feet, 
and  from  which  there  arose  a  cloud  of  dust  that  made 
the  good  merchant  cough,  together  with  a  swarm  of 
spiders  that  scattered  about  the  room. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  there  are  the  last  two  coats  that 
you  sold  me !  You  have  outrageously  deceived  me, 
Monsieur  Fauxteint :  *  they  faded  in  one  morning,  like 
two  rose  leaves,  and  my  dear  sister  could  not  even  use 

*£onteint,  good  tint;  Fauxteint,  false  tint.—  Translator. 


MT  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  147 

them  to  color  the  Easter  eggs  for  her  children.  You 
really  deserve  to  have  the  cost  of  the  coloring  material 
deducted  from  your  bill." 

"  Oh,  really,"  cried  Bonteint,  horrified,  "  that  is  really 
too  much;  never  was  a  creditor  more  insolently  treated. 
To-morrow  morning  you  shall  hear  from  me,  Monsieur 
Rathery." 

"So  much  the  better,  Monsieur  Bonteint;  I  shall 
always  be  delighted  to  learn  that  you  are  in  good 
health. —  By  the  way,  Monsieur  Bonteint,  you  are  for- 
getting your  cue-ribbons ! " 

As  Bonteint  went  out,  lawyer  Page  came  in.  He 
found  my  uncle  shouting  with  laughter. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  Bonteint?"  he  said; 
"I  just  met  him  on  the  stairs,  almost  red  with  anger; 
he  was  in  such  a  violent  crisis  of  exasperation  that  he 
did  not  bow  to  me  as  he  passed." 

"  The  old  imbecile,"  said  Benjamin,  "  is  angry  with 
me  because  I  have  no  money.  As  if  that  ought  not  to 
disturb  me  more  than  him !  " 

"  You  have  no  money,  my  poor  Benjamin !  So  much 
the  worse,  doubly  so  much  the  worse,  for  I  came  to 
offer  you  a  golden  bargain." 

"  Offer  it  just  the  same,"  said  Benjamin. 

"The  vicar  Djhiarcos  wishes  to  get  rid  of  a  quarter- 
cask  of  Burgundy,  which  one  of  his  devotees  has  given 
him,  because  he  has  the  catarrh  and  Doctor  Arnout  will 
allow  him  only  mild  drinks ;  as  the  diet  is  likely  to  be 
long,  he  is  afraid  that  his  wine  may  spoil.  He  wants 
this  money  to  furnish  some  rooms  for  a  poor  orphan 
who  has  just  lost  her  last  aunt.  So  it  is  not  only  a 
good  bargain,  but  a  good  deed  that  I  propose  to  you." 


148  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"Yes,"  said  Benjamin,  "but  without  money  it  is  not 
so  easy  to  do  a  good  deed ;  good  deeds  are  expensive, 
and  cannot  be  done  at  will.  But  what  is  your  opinion 
of  the  wine?" 

"Exquisite,"  said  Page,  smacking  his  lips;  "he  made 
me  taste  it ;  it  is  Beaune  of  the  first  quality." 

"  And  how  much  does  the  virtuous  Djhiarcos  want 
for  it?" 

"  Twenty-five  francs,"  said  Page. 

"  I  have  only  twenty  francs ;  if  he  wants  to  part  with 
it  for  twenty  francs,  it  is  a  bargain.  In  that  case  we 
will  lunch  on  credit." 

"  His  terms  are  twenty-five  francs,  take  it  or  leave  it. 
Twenty-five  francs  to  relieve  a  poor  orphan  from  pov- 
erty and  preserve  her  from  vice, —  you  will  agree  that 
that  is  not  too  much." 

"  But  if  you  had  five  francs,  Page,"  replied  my  uncle, 
"  we  could  buy  it  together." 

"  Alas  ! "  said  Page,  "  it  is  a  good  fortnight  since  I 
have  seen  so  much  money.  I  believe  that  specie  is 
afraid  of  M.  de  Calonne  ;  it  retires  "... 

"It  does  not  always  frequent  the  doctors,"  said  my 
uncle.  "  So  we  must  think  no  more  of  your  quarter- 
cask." 

For  sole  response,  Page  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

Just  then  came  in  my  grandmother,  carrying  a  big 
roll  of  linen  in  her  arms,  like  an  Infant  Jesus.  She 
placed  the  cloth  enthusiastically  on  my  uncle's  knees. 

"See,  Benjamin,"  said  she,  "I  have  just  made  a  su- 
perb bargain  ;  I  caught  sight  of  this  piece  of  cloth  this 
morning,  as  I  was  making  the  tour  of  the  fair-grounds. 
You  need  shirts,  and  I  thought  that  it  would  just  suit 


MY/  TJtfCLE  BENJAMIN.  149 

you.  Madame  Avril  offered  seventy-five  francs  for  it; 
she  allowed  the  merchant  to  leave  her,  but  I  could  see 
from  the  way  in  which  she  eyed  him  that  she  had  a 
good  mind  to  call  him  back.  *  Let  me  see  your  cloth,' 
said  I  then  to  the  peasant.  I  offered  him  eighty  francs ; 
I  did  not  think  that  he  would  part  with  it  for  that 
sum.  The  linen  is  worth  one  hundred  and  twenty 
francs  if  it  is  worth  a  sou,  and  Madame  Avril  is  furi- 
ous with  me  for  having  interfered  with  her  bargain." 

"And  this  linen,"  cried  my  uncle,  "you  have  bought, 
bought?" 

"  Bought,"  said  my  grandmother,  who  did  not  under- 
stand Benjamin's  exasperation ;  "  and  there  is  no  way 
of  getting  out  of  it ;  the  peasant  is  downstairs  waiting 
for  the  money." 

"  Well,  go  to  the  devil !  "  cried  Benjamin,  throwing 
the  roll  across  the  room,  "you  and  .  .  .  That  is,  for- 
give me,  my  dear  sister,  forgive  me,  no ;  do  not  go  to 
the  devil ;  it  is  too  far ;  but  go  carry  the  cloth  back  to 
the  merchant :  I  have  no  money  to  pay  for  it." 

"  And  the  money  that  you  received  this  morning 
from  M.  de  Cambyse?"  asked  my  grandmother. 

"  Why,  that  money  is  not  mine  jM.de  Cambyse  has 
given  me  too  much." 

"Too  much?  What  do  you  mean?"  answered  my 
grandmother,  looking  at  Benjamin  in  amazement. 

"Why,  yes,  too  much,  my  sister,  too  much,  do  you 
understand?  too  much.  He  sends  me  one  hundred 
and  fifty  francs  for  a  twenty-franc  operation :  now  do 
you  understand?" 

"And  you  are  stupid  enough  to  send  him  back  his 
money?  Well,  I  should  like  to  see  my  husband  play 
me  suck  a  trick  as  that." 


150  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  stupid  enough  for  that ;  what  do 
you  expect?  Everybody  cannot  have  the  wit  that  you 
exact  of  Machecourt ;  I  have  been  stupid  enough  for 
that,  and  I  do  not  repent  of  it.  I  will  not  be  a  charla- 
tan to  please  you.  My  God!  my  God!  how  difficult  it 
is  in  this  world  to  be  an  honest  man  !  Your  nearest  and 
your  dearest  are  sure  to  be  the  first  to  lead  you  into 
temptation." 

"  But  you  miserable  fellow,  you  lack  everything ;  you 
haven't  a  pair  of  silk  stockings  that  are  presentable, 
and  while  I  mend  your  shirts  on  one  side,  they  fall  to 
pieces  on  the  other." 

"And  because  my  shirts  fall  to  pieces  on  one  side 
while  you  mend  them  on  the  other,  must  I  fail  in  prob- 
ity, my  dear  sister  ?  " 

"But  your  creditors,  when  will  you  pay  them?" 

"  When  I  have  the  money,  that  is  all ;  I  defy  the 
richest  man  to  do  better." 

"And  the  cloth  merchant,  what  shall  I  tell  him?" 

"Tell  him  what  you  like.  Tell  him  that  I  don't 
wear  shirts,  or  that  I  have  three  hundred  dozen  in  my 
closet ,  he  will  choose  which  of  these  reasons  suits  him 
best," 

"  Oh,  my  poor  Benjamin  I "  said  my  grandmother, 
carrying  off  the  linen,  "  with  all  your  wit  you  will  never 
be  anything  but  a  fool." 

"  In  fact,"  said  Page,  when  my  grandmother  was  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  "your  dear  sister  is  right;  you 
push  probity  to  the  point  of  stupidity." 

My  uncle  rose  with  vivacity,  and,  grasping  the  law- 
yer's arm  so  firmly  in  his  iron  hand  as  to  make  him  cry 
out  with  pain,  he  said : 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  151 

"Page,  this  is  not  simply  probity,  it  is  noble  and 
legitimate  pride ;  it  is  respect  not  only  for  myself,  but 
also  for  our  poor  oppressed  class.  Would  you  have  me 
allow  this  country  squire  to  say  that  he  offered  me  a 
sort  of  pourboire  and  that  I  accepted  it  ?  Do  you  wish 
them  to  hurl  back  at  us,  when  their  escutcheon  is  only 
a  beggar's  badge,  that  charge  of  beggary  which  we  have 
so  often  made  against  them  ?  Would  you  have  us  give 
them  the  right  to  proclaim  that  we  too  receive  alms 
when  they  are  willing  to  bestow  them  upon  us? 
Listen,  Page,  you  know  whether  I  love  Burgundy; 
you  know,  too,  from  what  my  dear  sister  has  just  said, 
whether  I  need  shirts ;  but  for  all  the  vineyards  of 
C6te-d'Or  and  all  the  hemp-fields  of  Pays-Bas,  I  would 
not  have  a  single  face  in  the  bailiwick  in  presence  of 
which  I  must  hang  my  head.  No,  I  will  not  keep  this 
money,  though  I  needed  it  to  purchase  my  life.  It  is 
for  us,  men  of  heart  and  education,  to  do  honor  to  these 
people  in  the  midst  of  whom  we  were  born  ;  they  must 
learn  through  us  that  they  do  not  need  to  be  nobles  in 
order  to  be  men ;  that  they  may  rise  through  self- 
esteem  from  the  degradation  into  which  they  have 
fallen  ;  and  that  they  may  say  at  last  to  the  handful  of 
tyrants  who  oppress  them :  *  We  are  as  good  as  you 
are,  and  more  numerous.  "Wliy  should  we  continue  to 
be  your  slaves,  and  why  should  you  wish  to  remain  our 
masters  ? '  Oh,  Page,  may  I  live  to  see  that  day,  if  I 
have  to  drink  sour  wine  all  the  rest  of  my  life  ! " 

u  That  is  very  fine,"  said  Page,  "  but  all  that  does  not 
give  us  Burgundy." 

"  Rest  easy,  drunkard,  you  will  lose  nothing.  Sunday 
I  am  going  to  give  you  all  a  luncheon,  with  these 


152  MY    UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

twenty  francs  that  I  have  taken  from  the  throat  of 
M.  de  Cambyse,  and  at  dessert  I  will  tell  you  their 
story.  I  am  going  to  write  directly  to  M.  Minxit. 
I  cannot  have  Arthus,  inasmuch  as  I  have  only  twenty 
francs  to  spend,  or  else  he  would  have  to  dine  copiously 
that  day.  But  if  you  meet  Rapin,  Parian ta,  and  the 
others  before  I  do,  warn  them  not  to  make  any  other 
engagements." 

I  must  say  at  once  that  this  luncheon  was  postponed 
for  a  week  because  M.  Minxit  could  not  be  there,  and 
then  indefinitely  abandoned  because  my  uncle  was 
obliged  to  part  with  his  two  pistoles. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HOW   MY    IJNCLB    HUNG   M.    SUSURRANS    TO    A   HOOK   IN"   HIS 
KITCHEN. 

SEE  how  marvellously  fertile  are  the  flowers:  they 
scatter  their  seeds  about  them  like  rain ;  they  abandon 
them  to  the  winds  like  dust;  they  send  them  without 
stint,  like  those  alms  that  mount  to  dark  garrets,  to  the 
peaks  of  desolate  rocks,  among  the  old  stones  of  cracked 
walls,  amid  ruins  that  fall  and  hang,  and  they  will  find 
a  handful  of  earth  to  fertilize  them,  a  drop  of  rain  for 
their  roots  to  suck,  and,  after  a  ray  of  light  to  make 
them  grow,  another  ray  to  paint  them.  The  departing 
breezes  of  the  spring  carry  away  the  last  perfumes  of 
the  meadows,  and  the  earth  is  strewn  with  fading 
leaves ;  but  when  the  autumn  breezes  shall,  pass,  shak- 
ing their  moist  wings  over  the  fields,  another  generation 
of  flowers  will  have  invested  the  earth  with  a  new  robe, 
and  their  feeble  perfume  will  be  the  last  breath  of  the 
dying  year,  which  in  dying  smiles  on  us  still. 

In  all  other  respects,  women  are  like  flowers ;  but  in 
the  matter  of  fecundity  they  bear  no  resemblance  to 
them.  Most  women,  ladies  especially, —  and  I  pray 
you,  prolStaires  my  friends  and  brothers,  to  believe 
that  I  use  this  expression  only  to  conform  to  custom, 
for  to  me  the  truest  lady  is  the  woman  who  is  most 
amiable  and  the  prettiest, —  ladies,  I  say,  produce  no 
longer ;  they  become  mothers  of  families  as  seldom  as 
possible ;  they  are  barren  for  economy's  sake.  When 


154  MY  TINGLE  BENJAMIN. 

the  clerk's  wife  has  had  her  little  clerk  and  the  notary's 
wife  her  little  notary,  they  believe  that  they  have  ful- 
filled their  obligation  to  the  human  race,  and  they  ab- 
dicate. Napoleon,  who  was  very  fond  of  recruits  for 
his  armies,  said  that  the  woman  whom  he  liked  best 
was  the  woman  who  had  the  most  children.  Napoleon 
could  very  easily  say  this,  having  kingdoms  instead  of 
domains  to  give  to  his  sons.  The  fact  is  that  children 
are  very  expensive,  and  that  this  expense  is  not  within 
the  reach  of  everybody:  the  poor  man  alone  can  permit 
himself  the  luxury  of  a  numerous  family.  Are  you 
aware  that  the  months  required  for  the  nursing  of  a 
child  alone  cost  almost  as  much  as  a  cashmere  dress? 
Besides,  the  baby  grows  fast;  then  come  the  swollen 
accounts  of  the  boarding-school  proprietor  and  the  bills 
of  the  shoemaker  and  the  tailor ;  the  infant  of  to-day 
to-morrow  will  be  a  man,  his  moustache  begins  to  grow, 
and  there  he  is  a  bachelor  of  letters.  Then  you  know 
not  what  to  do  with  him.  To  get  rid  of  him  you  buy 
him  a  fine  profession ;  but  you  are  not  slow  in  perceiv- 
ing, from  the  drafts  made  on  you  from  the  four  corners 
of  the  city,  that  this  profession  brings  your  professor 
nothing  but  invitations  and  visiting  cards :  you  must 
keep  him,  till  past  the  age  of  thirty,  in  kid  gloves, 
Havana  cigars,  and  mistresses.  You  will  admit  that 
that  is  very  disagreeable.  If  there  were  a  hospital  for 
young  people  twenty  years  old,  as  there  is  or  used  to 
be  for  infants,  I  assure  you  that  it  would  be  crowded. 

But  in  the  century  when  my  uncle  Benjamin  lived, 
things  went  differently :  that  was  the  golden  age  of 
nurses  and  of  mid  wives.  Women  abandoned  themselves 
to  their  instincts  without  concern  and  without  fore- 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  155 

thought;  they  all  had  children,  rich  and  poor  alike, 
and  even  those  who  had  no  right  to  have  them.  But 
in  those  days  they  knew  what  to  do  with  these  children ; 
competition,  that  ogress  with  the  steel  fangs  which  de- 
vours so  many  little  people,  had  not  yet  arrived.  There 
was  a  place  for  everybody  in  the  beautiful  sunshine 
of  France,  and  in  every  profession  there  was  plenty 
of  elbow  room.  Places  offered  themselves,  like  fruit 
hanging  from  the  branch,  to  men  capable  of  filling 
them,  and  the  fools  themselves  found  situations,  each 
according  to  the  specialty  of  his  foolishness;  glory  was 
as  easily  achieved,  as  accommodating  a  girl,  as  fortune; 
it  did  not  take  half  the  wit  that  is  required  now  to  be 
a  man  of  letters,  and  with  a  dozen  Alexandrines  one  was 
a  poet.  I  do  not  say  that  I  regret  the  loss  of  that  blind 
fertility  of  the  olden  time,  which  produced  like  a 
machine  without  knowing  what  it  did:  I  find  that  I 
have  quite  neighbors  enough  as  it  is ;  I  simply  wish  to 
make  you  understand  how  it  was  that  at  the  period  of 
which  I  speak  my  grandmother,  although  she  was  not 
yet  thirty  years  old,  was  already  at  her  seventh  child. 
So  my  grandmother  was  at  her  seventh  child.  My 
uncle  absolutely  insisted  that  his  dear  sister  should  be 
present  at  his  wedding,  and  he  had  made  M.  Minxit 
consent  to  postpone  the  marriage  until  after  my  grand- 
mother's churching.  The  wardrobe  of  the  new  comer 
was  all  white  and  embroidered,  and  his  entrance  upon 
existence  was  expected  daily.  The  six  other  children 
were  all  living,  and  delighted  at  being  in  the  world. 
Sometimes  they  lacked  one  a  pair  of  shoes,  another  a 
cap ;  now  this  one  was  out  at  the  elbows,  and  now  that 
one  waa  out  at  the  heels;  but  they  had  their  white 


156  MY  TINGLE  BENJAMIN. 

starched  shirts,  and  on  the  whole  got  along  marvel- 
lously and  flourished  in  their  rags. 

My  father,  however,  who  was  the  eldest,  was  the  best 
and  most  handsomely  dressed  of  the  six :  that  perhaps 
was  due  to  the  fact  that  his  uncle  Benjamin  handed 
over  to  him  his  old  knee-breeches,  in  which  scarcely 
any  change  had  to  be  made  in  order  that  Gaspard 
might  wear  them  as  pantaloons,  and  often  no  change 
at  all.  By  the  protection  of  cousin  Guillaumot,  who 
was  sexton,  he  had  been  promoted  to  the  dignity  of 
choir  boy,  and,  I  say  it  with  pride,  he  was  one  of  the 
best  choir  boys  in  the  diocese.  If  he  had  persisted  in 
the  career  that  cousin  Guillaumot  had  opened  for  him, 
instead  of  the  handsome  captain  of  a  fire  company  that 
he  is  to-day,  lie  would  have  made  a  magnificent  priest. 
It  is  true  that  I  should  still  be  sleeping  in  the  void,  as 
says  the  good  M.  de  Lamartine,  who  sleeps  himself 
sometimes ;  but  sleep  is  an  excellent  thing,  and  besides, 
to  live  to  be  the  editor  of  a  country  newspaper  and  the 
rival  of  the  department  of  public  wit, —  is  that  really 
worth  living  for  ? 

However  that  may  be,  my  father  owed  to  his  Levit- 
ical  functions  the  advantage  of  having  a  superb  sky- 
blue  coat.  This  is  how  that  good  fortune  came  to  him : 
the  banner  of  Saint  Martin,  patron  saint  of  Clamecy, 
had  been  dismissed ;  my  grandmother,  with  that  eagle- 
eye  of  hers,  had  discovered  in  this  holy  stuff  the  where- 
withal to  make  her  eldest  son  a  jacket  and  a  pair  of 
pantaloons,  and  she  had  succeeded  in  securing  the  cast- 
off  banner  from  the  vestrymen  at  a  ridiculous  price. 
The  saint  was  painted  in  the  very  middle ;  the  artist 
had  represented  him  in  the  act  of  cutting  off  a  piece  of 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  157 

his  cloak  with  his  sabre  to  cover  the  nakedness  of  a 
beggar;  but  this  was  not  a  serious  obstacle  to  my 
grandmother's  plan.  She  simply  turned  the  material, 
so  that  Saint  Martin  came  on  the  inside,  which  for  that 
matter  was  quite  immaterial  to  the  saint. 

The  coat  had  been  finished  by  a  seamstress  in  the 
Rue  des  Moulins :  it  would  have  fitted  my  uncle  Benja- 
min perhaps  quite  as  well  as  my  father ;  but  my  grand- 
mother had  had  it  made  in  such  a  way  that,  after 
having  been  worn  out  the  first  time  by  the  eldest  son, 
it  could  be  worn  out  a  second  time  by  the  second  son. 
At  first  my  father  strutted  about  in  his  sky-blue  coat ; 
I  even  believe  that  he  contributed  out  of  his  salary  to 
pay  for  the  making.  But  he  was  not  slow  in  finding 
out  that  a  magnificent  garment  is  often  like  hair-cloth. 
Benjamin,  to  whom  nothing  was  sacred,  had  nicknamed 
him  the  patron  saint  of  Clamecy.  This  nickname  the 
children  had  picked  up,  and  it  had  cost  my  father  many 
blows.  More  than  once  did  it  happen  -to  him  to  come 
home  with  a  piece  of  the  sky-blue  coat  in  his  pocket. 
Saint  Martin  had  become  his  personal  enemy.  Often 
you  could  have  seen  him  at  the  foot  of  the  altar 
plunged  in  gloomy  meditation.  Now,  of  what  was  he 
dreaming  ?  Of  some  way  of  getting  rid  of  his  coat ;  and 
one  day,  to  the  Dominus  vobiscum  of  the  officiating 
clergyman,  he  responded,  thinking  that  he  was  talking 
to  his  mother:  " I  tell  you  that  I  will  never  wear  your 
sky-blue  coat  again." 

My  father  was  in  this  state  of  mind  when,  on  the 
Sunday  after  high  mass,  my  uncle,  having  to  pay  a  visit 
to  Val-des-Rosiers,  proposed  to  him  to  accompany  him. 
Gaspard,  who  preferred  playing  quoits  in  the  street  to 


158  MY  tnsrcLE  BENJAMIN. 

serving  as  an  aid  to  my  uncle,  answered  that  he  could 
not,  because  he  had  a  baptism  to  attend. 

"  That  doesn't  hinder,"  said  Benjamin  ;  "  another  will 
serve  in  your  place." 

"  Yes,  but  I  must  go  to  catechism  at  one  o'clock." 

"I  thought  that  you  had  made  your  first  com- 
munion." 

"  It  is  true  I  came  very  near  making  it,  but  you  pre- 
vented me  by  forcing  me  to  get  drunk  the  night  before 
the  ceremony." 

"  And  why  did  you  get  drunk  ?  " 

"  Because  you  were  drunk  yourself,  and  threatened 
to  beat  me  with  the  flat  of  your  sword  if  I  did  not  get 
drunk  too." 

"  I  was  wrong,"  said  Benjamin,  "•  but  all  the  same 
you  risk  nothing  by  coming  with  me ;  we  shall  not  be 
long ;  we  shall  return  before  the  catechism  hour." 

"  Indeed  I "  answered  Gaspard  ;  "  where  another  would 
take  only  an  hour,  you  need  half  a  day.  You  stop  at 
all  the  taverns ;  and  the  priest  has  forbidden  me  to  go 
with  you  because  you  set  me  bad  examples." 

"  Well,  pious  Gaspard,  if  you  refuse  to  come  with 
rne,  I  will  not  invite  you  to  my  wedding ;  if,  on  the 
contrary,  you  grant  me  this  favor,  I  will  give  you 
twelve  sous." 

"  Give  them  to  me  now,"  said  Gaspard. 

"  And  why  do  you  wish  them  now,  you  scamp  ?  Do 
you  distrust  my  word  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  am  not  anxious  to  be  your  creditor.  I 
have  heard  it  said  in  the  village  that  you  pay  nobody, 
and  that  they  do  not  wish  to  seize  your  effects  because 
your  possessions  are  not  worth  thirty  sous." 


:MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  159 

"  Well  said,  Gaspard  !  "  said  my  uncle ;  "  here,  there 
are  fifteen  sous,  and  go  tell  ray  dear  sister  that  you  are 
going  with  me." 

My  grandmother  went  clear  to  the  threshold  to  ad- 
vis  3  Gaspard  to  be  very  careful  of  his  coat,  for,  she  said, 
he  must  keep  it  for  his  uncle's  wedding. 

"Are  you  joking?"  said  Benjamin;  "is  there  any 
need  of  recommending  a  French  choir  boy  to  be  care- 
ful of  the  banner  of  his  patron  saint?  " 

"  Uncle,"  said  Gaspard,  "  before  we  start  I  \yarn  you 
of  one  thing, —  that,  if  you  call  me  again  banner-bearer, 
blue  bird,, or  patron  saint  of  Clamecy,  I  will  run  away 
with  your  fifteen  sous,  and  come  back  to  play  quoits." 

On  entering  the  village  my  uncle  met  M.  Susurrans, 
the  grocer,  very  short  and  very  thin,  but  made,  like 
gun-powder,  out  of  charcoal  and  saltpetre.  M.  Susur- 
rans. had  a  sort  of  small  farm  at  Val-des-Rosiers ;  he 
was  on  his  way  back  to  Clamecy,  carrying  under  his 
arm  a  keg  that  he  hoped  to  smuggle  in,  and  at  the 
end  of  his  cane  a  pair  of  capons  which  Madame  Susur- 
rans was  waiting  for  to  put  on  the  spit.  M.  Susur- 
rans knew  my  uncle  and  esteemed  him,  for  Benjamin 
bought  of  him  the  sugar  with  which  he  sweetened  his 
drugs  and  the  powder  that  he  put  on  his  cue.  So  M. 
Susurrans  proposed  to  him  to  come  to  the  farm  to  re- 
fresh himself.  My  uncle,  to  whom  thirst  was  a  normal 
condition,  accepted  without  ceremony.  The  grocer  and 
his  customer  established  themselves  at  the  corner  of 
the  fire,  each  on  a  stool ;  they  placed  the  keg  be- 
tween them ;  but  they  did  not  allow  its  contents  to 
turn  sour,  and  when  it  was  not  in  the  hands  of  one,  it 
was  at  the  lips  of  the  other. 


160  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

"  Appetite  comes  by  drinking  as  well  as  by  eating ; 
suppose  we  eat  the  chickens,"  said  M.  Susurrans. 

"  In  fact,"  answered  my  uncle,  "  that  will  save  you 
the  trouble  of  carrying  them  home,  and  I  do  not  Under- 
stand how  3'ou  undertook  to  load  yourself  down  with 
such  a  burden." 

"  And  with  what  sauce  shall  we  eat  them?  " 

"  With  that  which  is  quickest  made,"  said  Benjamin, 
"  and  here  is  an  excellent  fire  with  which  to  roast 
them." 

"  Yes,"  said  M.  Susurrans,  "  but  there  are  no  kitchen 
utensils  here  save  those  that  are  necessary  to  make  an 
onion  soup:  we  have  no  spit." 

Benjamin,  like  all  great  men,  was  never  taken  un- 
awares. 

"  It  shall  not  be  said,"  he  answered,  "  that  two  men 
of  wit  like  ourselves  were  unable  to  eat  a  roasted  fowl 
for  want  of  a  spit.  If  you  say  so,  we  will  spit  our 
chickens  on  the  blade  of  my  sword,  and  Gaspard  here 
will  turn  them  before  the  fire." 

You  would  never  have  thought  of  this  expedient, 
friendly  reader,  but  my  uncle  had  imagination  enough 
for  ten  novelists  of  our  day. 

Gaspard,  who  did  not  often  have  a  chance  to  eat 
chicken,  went  joyfully  to  work,  and  in  an  hour's  time 
the  fowls  were  roasted  to  a  turn.  They  turned  a  wash- 
tub  upside-down,  and  dragged  it  up  to  the  fire ;  on 
this  they  placed  the  plates,  knives,  and  forks,  and  thus, 
without  leaving  their  seats,  the  guests  were  at  table. 
Glasses  were  lacking ;  but  the  keg  was  not  long  left 
still ;  they  drank  out  of  the  bunghole,  as  in  the  days  of 
Homer ;  it  was  not  very  convenient,  but  such  was  the 


MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  161 

stoic  character  of  my  uncle  that  he  would  rather  drink 
good  wine  thus  than  sour  wine  out  of  crystal  glasses. 
In  spite  of  the  difficulties  of  all  sorts  which  the  opera- 
tion involved,  the  chickens  were  soon  despatched.  For 
some  time  the  unfortunate  birds  had  been  nothing 
more  than  stripped  carcasses,  and  still  the  two  friends 
kept  on  drinking.  M.  Susurrans,  who  was,  as  we  have 
said,  a  very  small  man,  whose  stomach  and  brain  al- 
most touched  each  other,  was  as  drunk  as  well  could  be ; 
but  Benjamin,  the  great  Benjamin,  had  preserved  the 
major  part  of  his  reason,  and  looked  with  pity  on  his 
weaker  adversary ;  as  for  Gaspard,  to  whom  they  had 
occasionally  passed  the  keg,  he  went  a  little  beyond  the 
limits  of  temperance ;  filial  respect  does  not  allow  me 
to  use  any  other  expression. 

Such  was  the  moral  situation  of  the  guests  when 
they  left  the  wash-tub.  It  was  then  four  o'clock,  and 
they  began  to  get  ready  to  start.  M.  Susurrans,  who 
remembered  very  well  that  he  was  to  carry  spme 
chickens  to  his  wife,  looked  about  for  them  to  place  them 
on  the  end  of  his  cane;  he  asked  my  uncle  if  he  had  not 
seen  them. 

"  Your  chickens,"  said  Benjamin ;  "  are  you  joking  ? 
You  have  just  eaten  them." 

"  Yes,  you  old  fool,"  added  Gaspard,  "  you  have  eaten 
them  ;  they  were  spitted  on  my  uncle's  sword,  and  I 
turned  the  spit." 

"It  is  not  true,"  cried  M.  Susurrans,  "for,  if  I  had 
eaten  my  chickens,  I  should  not  be  hungry,  and  I  have 
appetite  enough  to  devour  a  wolf." 

"  I  do  not  deny  it,"  responded  my  uncle,  "but  it  is 
none  the  less  true  that  you  have  eaten  your  chickens. 


162  MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

See,  if  you  doubt  it,  there  are  the  two  carcasses  ;  you 
can  hang  them  to  the  end  of  your  cane  if  you  like." 

"  You  are  lying,  Benjamin  ;  I  do  not  recognize  those 
as  the  carcasses  of  my  chickens ;  you  have  taken  them 
from  me,  and  you  shall  return  them  to  me." 

"  Very  well,"  said  my  uncle,  "  send  to  my  house  for 
them  to-morrow,  and  I  will  return  them  to  you." 

"You  shall  return  them  to  me  directly,"  said  M. 
Susurrans,  rising  on  tip-toe  to  grasp  my  uncle  by  the 
throat. 

"Ah,  there!  papa  Susurrans!"  said  Benjamin;  "if 
you  are  joking,  I  warn  you  that  this  is  carrying  the 
joke  too  far,  and  "... 

"No,  you  miserable  fellow,  I  am  not  joking,"  said  M. 
Susurrans,  placing  himself  in  front  of  the  door,  "  and 
you  shall  not  leave  here,  neither  you  nor  your  nephew, 
until  you  have  restored  my  chickens." 

"  Uncle,"  said  Gaspard,  "  would  you  like  me  to  trip 
up  this  old  imbecile  ?  " 

"It  is  useless,  Gaspard,  useless,  my  friend,"  said 
Benjamin  ;  "  besides,  you  are  a  churchman,  and  it  does 
not  become  you  to  intervene  in  a  quarrel.  Say  there  !  " 
he  added,  "  once,  twice,  M.  Susurrans,  will  you  let  us 
go  out  ?  " 

"When  you  have  restored  my  chickens,"  answered 
M.  Susurrans,  making  a  half  turn  to  the  left  and  pre- 
senting the  end  of  his  cane  at  my  uncle  as  if  it  had 
been  a  bayonet. 

Benjamin  lowered  the  cane  with  his  hand,  and,  tak- 
ing the  little  man  by  the  middle  of  the  body,  he  hung 
him  by  the  waistband  to  a  piece  of  iron  over  the  door 
which  was  used  to  hang  kitchen  utensils  upon. 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  163 

Susurrans,  thus  likened  to  a  saucepan,  kicked  about 
like  a  beetle  pinned  to  a  curtain.  He  screamed  and 
gesticulated,  crying  now  "  Fire  ! "  now  "  Murder !  " 

My  uncle  caught  sight  of  a  Liege  almanac  which  was 
lying  on  the  mantel-shelf.  Said  he : 

"  Stay,  Monsieur  Susurrans ;  study,  writes  Cicero,  is 
a  consolation  in  all  situations  of  life  :  amuse  yourself 
in  studying  until  some  one  comes  to  take  you  down ; 
for  I  have  no  time  to  carry  on  a  conversation  with  you, 
and  I  have  the  honor  to  wish  you  good  evening." 

My  uncle  had  gone  only  twenty  steps  when  he  met 
the  farmer  running  up,  who  asked  him  why  his  master 
was  crying  "  Fire  !  "  and  "  Murder !  " 

"  Probably  because  the  house  is  burning  and  someone 
is  killing  your  master,"  answered  my  uncle,  tranquilly ; 
and,  whistling  to  Gaspard,  who  was  lingering  in  the 
rear,  he  continued  on  his  way. 

The  weather  had  grown  milder.  The  sky,  so  bright 
but  a  little  while  before,  had  become  a  dull  and  dirty 
white,  like  a  gypsum  ceiling  before  it  is  dry.  A  fine, 
thick,  piercing  rain  was  falling,  streaming  in  little  drops 
along  the  stripped  branches,  and  making  the  trees  and 
bushes  weep. 

My  uncle's  hat  drank  in  this  rain  like  a  sponge,  and 
soon  its  two  corners  became  two  spouts  from  which 
black  water  poured  upon  his  shoulders.  Benjamin, 
anxious  about  his  coat,  turned  it  inside  out,  and,  re- 
membering his  sister's  injunction,  he  ordered  Gaspard 
to  do  the  same.  The  latter,  forgetting  Saint  Martin, 
conformed  to  my  uncle's  command. 

A  little  distance  farther  on,  Benjamin  and  Gaspard 
met  a  troop  of  peasants  returning  from  vespers.  At 


164  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

sight  of  the  saint  on  Gaspard's  coat,  with  his  head  down 
and  his  horse  with  all  four  feet  in  the  air,  as  if  he  had 
fallen  from  the  sky,  the  rustics  first  burst  into  loud 
shouts  of  laughter,  and  then  their  laughter  turned  to 
hisses.  You  know  my  uncle  well  enough  to  believe 
that  he  would  not  allow  such  a  crowd  to  make  sport  of 
him  with  impunity.  He  drew  his  sword;  Gaspard,  on 
his  side,  armed  himself  with  stones,  and,  carried  away 
by  his  ardor,  led  the  attack.  My  uncle  then  saw  that 
Saint  Martin  was  the  only  party  wronged  in  this  affair, 
and  he  was  seized  with  such  a  desire  to  laugh  that  he 
was  obliged  to  rest  on  his  sword  to  keep  from  falling. 

"  Gaspard,"  he  shouted,  in  a  choking  voice,  "  patron 
saint  of  Clamecy,  your  saint  is  upside  down,  your  saint's 
helmet  is  falling  off." 

Gaspard,  understanding  that  he  was  the  object  of  all 
this  mirth,  could  not  endure  this  humiliation ;  he  took 
off  his  coat,  threw  it  on  the  ground,  and  trampled  on  it 
with  his  feet.  When  my  uncle  had  finished  laughing, 
he  tried  to  force  him  to  pick  it  up  and  put  it  on  again : 
but  Gaspard  ran  away  across  the  fields,  and  was  seen  no 
more.  Benjamin  pitifully  picked  up  the  coat  and  put 
it  on  the  end  of  his  sword.  In  the  meantime  M.  Su- 
surrans  came  up.  He  had  sobered  off  a  little,  and  re- 
membered very  distinctly  that  he  had  eaten  his  chickens ; 
but  he  had  lost  his  three-cornered  hat.  Benjamin,  who 
was  much  amused  at  the  little  man's  vivacity,  and  who 
wished,  as  we  professors  say,  people  of  evil  associations 
and  low  tone,  to  get  him  a  little  rattled,  maintained 
that  he  had  eaten  his  hat;  but  Benjamin's  muscular 
strength  h;id  impressed  itself  so  forcibly  upon  Susurrans 
that  he  squarely  refused  to  take  offence ;  he  even  pushed 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  165 

his  obstinacy  to  the  point  of  making  apologies  to  my 
uncle. 

Benjamin  and  M.  Susurrans  returned  to  Clamecy 
together.  Toward  the  middle  of  the  faubourg  they  met 
lawyer  Page. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  said  the  latter  to  my  uncle. 

"  Why,  you  must  see  for  yourself ;  I  am  going  to  my 
dear  sister's  to  dine." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Page ;  "  you  are  going  to  dine  with 
me  at  the  Hotel  du  Dauphin." 

"  And  if  I  accept,  to  what  circumstance  shall  I  owe 
this  advantage  ?  " 

"  I  will  explain  that  to  you  in  a  word.  A  wealthy 
wood  merchant  of  Paris,  for  whom  I  have  won  an  im- 
portant case,  has  invited  me  to  dine  with  his  attorney, 
whom  he  does  not  know.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  the 
carnival ;  I  have  decided  that  you  shall  be  his  attorney, 
and  I  was  on  my  way  to  notify  you.  It  is  an  adventure 
worthy  of  us,  Benjamin,  and  I  undoubtedly  have  not 
presumed  too  much  upon  your  genius  in  hoping  that 
you  would  play  a  part  in  it." 

"It  is,  indeed,"  said  Benjamin,  "a  well-conceived 
masquerade.  But  I  do  not  know,"  he  added,  laughing, 
"  whether  honor  and  delicacy  will  permit  me  to  play  the 
part  of  the  attorney." 

"  At  table,"  said  Page,  "  the  most  honest  man  is  the 
man  who  most  conscientiously  empties  his  glass." 

"  Yes,  but  suppose  your  wood  merchant  should  talk 
to  me  about  his  case  ?  " 

"  I  will  answer  for  you." 

"  And  suppose  to-morrow  he  should  take  it  into  his 
head  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  attorney?" 


166  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  It  is  to  you  that  I  will  take  him." 

"That's  all  very  well,  but  I  haven't  an  attorney's 
phiz ;  at  least  I  so  flatter  myself." 

"  You  shall  assume  it ;  you  have  already  succeeded  in 
passing  yourself  off  for  the  Wandering  Jew." 

"  And  my  red  coat  ?  " 

"  Our  man  is  an  idler  from  Paris  ;  we  will  make  him 
believe  that  in  the  provinces  a  red  coat  is  a  part  of  an 
attorney's  insignia." 

"  And  my  sword  ?  " 

"  If  he  notices  it,  you  will  tell  him  that  you  cut  your 
pens  with  that." 

"  But  who  then  is  your  wood  merchant's  attorney  ?  " 

"  Dulciter.  Would  you  be  so  inhuman  as  to  let  me 
dine  with  Dulciter?" 

"  I  know  very  well  that  Dulciter  is  not  amusing  ; 
but,  if  he  should  know  that  I  had  dined  in  his  place,  he 
would  sue  me  for  damages." 

"  I  will  plead  your  cause  ;  come,  I  am  sure  that  dinner 
is  ready;  but,  by  the  way,  our.  host  urged  me  to  bring 
with  me  Dulciter's  head  clerk:  where  the  devil  am  I 
to  find  a  clerk  for  Dulciter?" 

Benjamin  burst  into  a  mad  laugh. 

"  Oh ! "  he  shouted,  clapping  his  hands,  "  I  have  it ! 
Stay,"  he  added,  putting  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
M.  Susurrans,  "  here  is  your  clerk." 

"  Oh,  fie  !  "  said  Page,  "  a  grocer  ?  " 

"  What  difference  does  that  make  ?  " 

"  He  smells  of  cheese." 

"  You  are  not  an  epicure,  Page ;  he  smells  of  can- 
dles." 

"  But  he  is  sixty  years  old." 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  167 

"  We  will  introduce  him  as  the  Nestor  of  the  cor- 
poration." 

"You  are  rogues  and  good-for-nothings,"  said  M. 
Susurrans,  his  impetuous  character  coming  to  the  front 
again ;  "  I  am  not  a  bandit,  nor  a  frequenter  of  wine- 
shops." 

"  No,"  interrupted  my  uncle ;  "  he  gets  drunk  alone 
in  his  cellar." 

"  Possibly,  Monsieur  Rathery,  but  at  any  rate  I  do 
not  get  drunk  at  the  expense  of  others,  and  I  will  not 
take  part  in  your  filibustering  projects." 

"  But  you  must  at  any  rate,"  said  my  uncle,  "  take 
part  this  evening ;  otherwise  I  will  tell  everybody  where 
I  hung  you." 

"  And  where  then  did  you  hang  him  ?  "  said  Page. 

"  Imagine,"  said  Benjamin  .  .  . 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  cried  Susurrans,  putting  a 
finger  over  his  mouth. 

"  Well,  do  you  consent  to  come  with  us  ?  " 

"  Why,  Monsieur  Rathery,  consider  that  my  wife  is 
waiting  for  me ;  they  will  think  me  dead,  murdered ; 
they  will  institute  a  search  for  me  on  the  road  to  Val- 
des-Rosiers." 

"So  much  the  better;  perhaps  they  will  find  your 
three-cornered  hat." 

"  Monsieur  Rathery,  my  good  Monsieur  Rathery ! " 
exclaimed  Susurrans,  clasping  his  hands. 

"Well,  then,"  said  my  uncle,  "don't  be  childish! 
You  owe  me  a  reparation,  and  I  owe  you  a  dinner ;  at 
one  stroke  we  shall  cancel  our  mutual  obligations." 

"  At  least  let  me  go  tell  my  wife." 

"No,"  said  Benjamin,  placing  himself  between  him 


168  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

and  Page ;  "  I  know  Madame  Susurrans  from  having 
seen  her  at  her  counter.  She  would  put  you  under 
lock  and  key,  and  I  do  not  wish  you  to  escape  us :  I 
would  not  give  you  for  ten  pistoles." 

"  And  my  keg,"  said  Susurrans,  "  what  am  I  going 
to  do  with  that  now  that  I  am  an  attorney's  clerk  ?  " 

"It  is  true,"  said  Benjamin,  "you  cannot  present 
yourself  at  our  client's  with  a  keg." 

They  were  then  in  the  middle  of  the  Beuvron  bridge  ; 
my  uncle  took  the  keg  from  the  hands  of  Susurrans  and 
threw  it  into  the  river. 

"  Rascal  of  a  Rathery !  knave  of  a  Rathery ! "  cried 
Susurrans ;  "  you  shall  pay  me  for  my  keg  ;  it  cost  me 
six  francs ;  but  you  shall  know  what  it  will  cost  you." 

"M.  Susurrans,"  said  Benjamin,  assuming  a  majsstic 
attitude,  "let  us  imitate  the  sage  who  said:  Omnia 
mecum  porto ;  that  is,  everything  that  hinders  me  I 
throw  into  the  river.  See,  there  at  the  end  of  this  sword 
is  a  magnificent  coat,  my  nephew's  Sunday  coat;  a  coat 
which  might  figure  in  a  museum,  and  which  cost  for  the 
making  alone  thirty  times  as-  much  as  your  miserable 
keg.  Well,  I  sacrifice  it  without  the  slightest  regret ; 
throw  it  over  the  bridge,  and  we  shall  be  quits." 

As  M.  Susurrans  was  unwilling  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind,  Benjamin  threw  the  coat  over  the  bridge,  and, 
taking  Page's  arm  and  that  of  Susurrans,  he  said : 

"  Now  let  us  be  off ;  they  can  raise  the  curtain ;  we 
are  ready  to  go  upon  the  stage." 

But  man  proposes  and  God  disposes.  As  they  were 
going  up  the  steps  of  Vieille-Rome,  they  met  Madame 
Susurrans  face  to  face.  Not  seeing  her  husband,  re  turn, 
she  had  started  out  to  meet  him  with  a  lantern.  When 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  169 

she  saw  him  between  my  uncle  and  lawyer  Page,  both 
of  whom  had  a  suspicious  reputation,  her  anxiety  gave 
place  to  anger. 

"  At  last,  Monsieur,  here  you  are  !  "  she  cried ;  "  it  is 
really  fortunate ;  I  began  to  think  that  you  were  not 
coming  home  to-night;  you  are  leading  a  pretty  life, 
and  setting  a  fine  example  to  your  son." 

Then,  surveying  her  husband  with  a  rapid  glance,  she 
saw  how  incomplete  he  was. 

"And  your  chickens,  Monsieur!  and  your  hat, 
wretch !  and  your  keg,  drunkard !  What  have  you 
done  with  them  ?  " 

"  Madame,"  responded  Benjamin,  gravely,  "  we  have 
eaten  the  chickens;  as  for  the  three-cornered  hat,  he 
has  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  it  in  the  road." 

"  What !  the  monster  has  lost  his  three-cornered  hat ! 
a  three-cornered  hat  that  had  just  been  done  over ! " 

"  Yes,  Madame,  he  has  lost  it,  and  you  are  very  fort- 
unate, considering  the  position  which  he  occupied,  that 
he  did  not  lose  his  wig  as  well ;  as  for  the  keg,  the  cus- 
toms officials  seized  it,  and  they  have  reported  the  of- 
fence." 

As  Page  could  not  help  laughing,  Mme.  Susiirrans 
said: 

"  I  see  how  it  is ;  you  have  debauched  my  husband, 
and  you  are  laughing  at  us  besides.  You  would  be  in 
much  better  business  attending  to  your  patients  and 
paying  your  debts,  Monsieur  Rathery." 

"Do  I  owe  you  anything,  Madame?"  replied  my 
uncle,  proudly. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  broke  in  Susurrans,  feeling  strong 
under  his  wife's  protection,  "  he  debauched  me ;  he  and 


170  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

his  nephew  ate  my  chickens ;  they  took  my  three-cor- 
nered hat  and  threw  my  keg  into  the  river;  he  tried 
also,  infamous  man  that  he  is,  to  force  me  to  go  to  dine 
with  him  at  the  Dauphin  and  to  play  at  my  age  the 
part  of  an  attorney's  clerk." 

"  Away,  base  man !  I  am  going  at  once  to  warn  M. 
Dulciter  that  you  intend  to  dine  in  his  place  and  in 
that  of  his  clerk." 

"You  see,  Madame,"  said  my  uncle,  "that  your  hus- 
band is  drunk  and  doesn't  know  what  he  is  talking 
about ;  if  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  put  him  to  bed 
as  soon  as  you  reach  the  house,  and  give  him  every  two 
hours  a  decoction  of  camomile  and  lime-tree  flowers: 
while  holding  him  up,  I  had  occasion  to  feel  his  pulse, 
and  I  assure  you  that  he  is  not  at  all  well." 

"  Oh !  you  rascal !  Oh  !  you  knave  !  Oh  !  you  revolu- 
tionist !  You  dare  to  tell  my  wife  that  I  am  sick  from 
having  drunk  too  much,  whereas  it  is  you  who  are 
drunk !  Wait,  I  am  going  to  Dulciter's  at  once,  and 
you  will  hear  from  him  directly." 

"  You  must  see,  Madame,"  said  Page,  with  the  utmost 
sang-froid,  "  that  this  man  is  talking  wildly  :  you  would 
be  false  to  all  your  wifely  duties  if  you  should  not  make 
your  husband  take  camomile  and  lime-tree  flowers,  ac- 
cording to  the  prescription  of  M.  Rathery,  who  is  surely 
the  most  skilful  doctor  in  the  bailiwick,  and  who  an- 
swers this  madman's  insults  by  saving  his  life." 

Susurrans  was  about  to  renew  his  curses. 

"  Come,"  his  wife  said  to  him,  "  I  see  that  these  gen- 
tlemen are  right:  you  are  so  drunk  that  you  cannot 
talk;  follow  me  directly,  or  I  will  lock  you  out,  and 
you  will  sleep  wherever  you  can." 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  171 

"That's  right,"  said  Page  and  my  uncle  together, 
and  they  were  still  laughing  when  they  reached  the 
door  of  the  Dauphin.  The  first  person  whom  they  met 
in  the  yard  was  M.  Minxit,  who  was  mounting  his 
horse  to  return  to  Corvol. 

"  Stay,"  said  my  uncle,  seizing  his  horse's  bridle, 
"  you  shall  not  leave  here  to-night,  Monsieur  Minxit ; 
you  are  going  to  sup  with  us ;  we  have  lost  one  guest, 
but  you  are  worth  thirty  of  him." 

"  If  that  will  please  you,  Benjamin  .  .  .  Hostler, 
take  my  horse  back  to  the  stable,  and  tell  them  to  pre- 
pare a  bed  for  me." 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

HOW  MY  UNCLE  SPENT  THE  NIGHT  Itf  PRATER  FOR  HIS 
SISTER'S  SAFE  DELIVERY. 

MY  time  is  precious,  dear  readers,  and  I  suppose 
that  yours  is  no  less  so;  I  shall  not  amuse  myself 
therefore  in  describing  to  you  this  memorable  supper ; 
you  know  the  guests  well  enough  to  form  an  idea  of 
the  way  in  which  they  supped.  My  uncle  left  the 
Hotel  du  Dauphin  at  midnight,  advancing  three  steps 
and  retiring  two,  like  certain  pilgrims  of  former  times 
who  vowed  to  go  to  Jerusalem  by  that  method.  On 
entering  the  house,  he  saw  a  light  in  Machecourt's 
chamber;  and,  supposing  that  his  brother-in-law  was 
scribbling  off  some  writ,  he  went  in  with  the  intention 
of  bidding  him  good-night.  My  grandmother  was  in 
the  pains  of  child-birth  ;  the  midwife,  frightened  at  my 
uncle's  unexpected  appearance  at  this  hour,  came  to 
officially  notify  him  of  the  event  that  was  about  to  take 
place.  Benjamin  remembered,  through  the  mists  that 
obscured  his  brain,  that  his  sister,  during  the  first  year 
of  her  marriage,  had  had  a  very  painful  delivery  which 
endangered  her  life :  immediately  he  melted  into  two 
tear-spouts. 

"  Alas ! "  he  cried,  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  waken 
the  entire  Rue  des  Moulins,  "  my  dear  sister  is  going 
to  die ;  alas !  she  is  going  "... 

"  Madame  Lalande,"  cried  my  grandmother  from  her 
bed,  "  put  that  dog  of  a  drunkard  out  doors-" 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  173 

"Retire,  Monsieur  Rathery,"  said  Madame  Lalande, 
"there  is  not  the  slightest  danger;  the  child  presents 
itself  by  the  shoulders,  and  in  an  hour  your  sister  will 
be  delivered.*-' 

But  Benjamin  still  cried :  "  Alas !  my  dear  sister  is 
going  to  die." 

Machecourt,  seeing  that  the  midwife's  remarks  had 
no  effect,  thought  it  his  duty  to  intervene. 

"Yes,  Benjamin,  my  friend,  my  good  brother,  the 
child  presents  itself  by  the  shoulders ;  do  me  the  favor 
to  go  to  bed,  I  beg  of  you." 

So  spoke  my  grandfather. 

"  And  you,  Machecourt,  my  friend,  my  good  brother," 
answered  my  uncle,  "  I  beg  of  you,  do  me  the  favor  to 
go"... 

My  grandmother,  seeing  that  she  could  not  count  on 
Machecourt  to  take  any  decisive  step  with  Benjamin, 
decided  to  put  him  out  doors  herself. 

With  lamblike  docility  my  uncle  suffered  himself  to 
be  pushed  outside.  His  mind  was  soon  made  up :  he 
decided  to  go  sleep  beside  Page,  who  was  snoring  like  a 
blacksmith's  bellows  on  one  of  the  tables  at  the  Dau- 
phin. Bat,  as  he  was  passing  by  the  church,  the  idea 
occurred  to  him  to  pray  to  God  for  his  dear  sister's  safe 
delivery ;  now  the  weather  had  grown  very  cold  again, 
and  the  temperature  was  several  degrees  below  freez- 
ing. Notwithstanding  this,  Benjamin  knelt  on  the 
steps  of  the  church-front,  joined  his  hands  as  he  had 
seen  them  do  at  his  dear  sister's,  and  began  to  mumble 
some  bits  of  prayer.  As  he  was  beginning  his  second 
Ave,  sleep  took  possession  of  him,  and  he  began  to  snore 
like  his  friend  Page.  The  next  morning  at  five  o'clock, 


174  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

when  the  sexton  came  to  ring  the  "  Angelus,"  he  saw 
something  kneeling  like  a  human  form.  At  first  he 
imagined  in  his  simplicity  that  some  saint  had  left  hij 
niche  to  do  penance,  and  he  began  to  get  ready  to  take 
him  back  into  the  church ;  but,  on  coming  closer,  the 
light  of  his  lantern  enabled  him  to  recognize  my  uncle, 
who  had  an  inch  of  frost  on  his  back  and  an  icicle  on 
the  end  of  his  nose  half  an  ell  in  length. 

"  Hello,  Monsieur  Rathery  !  Hello  !  "  he  shouted  in 
Benjamin's  ear. 

As  my  uncle  did  not  answer,  he  went  calmly  to  ring 
his  "Angelus,"  and,  when  he  had  finished  and  well 
finished,  he  came  back  to  M.  Rathery.  In  case  that  he 
might  not  be  dead,  he  took  him  on  his  shoulders  like  a 
sack  and  carried  him  to  his  sister's.  My  grandmother 
had  been  delivered  two  good  hours ;  the  neighbors  who 
had  spent  the  night  by  her  side  transferred  their  cares 
to  Benjamin.  They  placed  him  on  a  mattress  before 
the  fire,  wrapped  him  in  warm  towels  and  blankets,  and 
placed  a  hot  brick  at  his  feet;  in  the  excess  of  their 
zeal,  they  would  willingly  have  put  him  in  the  oven. 
My  uncle  thawed  out  gradually ;  his  cue,  which  was  as 
stiff  as  his  sword,  began  to  weep  on  the  bolster,  his 
joints  relaxed,  the  power  of  speech  returned  to  him,  and 
the  first  use  that  he  made  of  it  was  to  call  for  hot  wine. 
They  quickly  made  him  a  kettleful ;  when  he  had 
drunk  half  of  it,  he  was  taken  with  such  a  sweat  that 
they  thought  he  was  going  to  liquefy.  He  swallowed 
the  rest,  went  to  sleep,  and  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing was  as  well  as  anybody.  If  the  priest  had  made  an 
official  report  of  these  facts,  my  uncle  would  surely  have 
been  canonized.  They  probably  would  have  given  him 


MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  175 

to  the  tavern-keepers  for  their  patron  saint ;  and  it  may 
be  said,  without  flattering  him,  that,  with  his  cue  and 
his  red  coat,  he  would  have  made  a  magnificent  tavern- 
sign. 

More  than  a  week  had  passed  since  my  grandmother's 
safe  delivery,  and  already  she  was  thinking  of  her 
churching.  This  sort  of  quarantine  imposed  by  the 
canons  of  the  church  involved  serious  inconveniences 
to  her  in  particular  and  to  the  whole  family  in  general. 
In  the  first  place,  when  any  rather  striking  event  — 
some  bit  of  scandal,  for  instance  —  ruffled  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  neighborhood,  she  could  not  go  to  gossip 
with  her  neighbor  in  the  Rue  des  Moulins,  which  to 
her  was  a  cruel  privation ;  further,  she  was  obliged  to 
send  Gaspard  to  the  market  and  the  butcher's,  wrapped 
in  a  kitchen-apron.  Now,  when  Gaspard  lost  the  dinner- 
money  playing  quoits,  or  when  he  brought  home  a  scrag 
of  mutton  instead  of  a  leg,  or  when,  on  being  sent  to 
get  a  cabbage  to  put  in  the  kettle,  he  did  not  return 
until  after  the  soup  was  done,  Benjamin  laughed,  Mache- 
court  swore,  and  my  grandmother  whipped  Gaspard. 

"  Why,"  said  my  grandfather  one  day,  irritated  at 
being  obliged,  in  consequence  of  Gaspard's  absence,  to 
eat  a  calf's  head  without  shallots,  "  do  you  not  do  your 
work  yourself?" 

"  Why !  Why !  "  replied  my  grandmother ;  "  because 
I  cannot  go  to  mass  without  paying  Mme.  Lalande." 

"  Why  the  devil,  then,  dear  sister,"  said  Benjamin, 
"  did  you  not  wait  till  you  had  some  money  before  giv- 
ing birth  to  your  child  ?  " 

"  Ask  rather  your  imbecile  brother-in-law  why  he  has 
not  brought  me  six  francs  for  a  month." 


17C  MY  TJNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  So  then,"  said  Benjamin,  "  if  you  were  to  go  six 
months  without  receiving  money,  for  six  months  you 
would  remain  shut  up  in  your  house  as  in  a  lazaretto  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  grandmother,  "  because  if  I  should 
go  out  before  I  had  been  to  mass,  the  priest  would  de- 
nounce me  from  the  pulpit  and  the  people  would  point 
their  fingers  at  me  in  the  streets." 

"  In  that  case  you  should  call  on  the  priest  to  send 
you  his  housekeeper  to  perform  your  household  duties  ; 
for  God  is  too  just  to  require  Machecourt  to  eat  calf's 
head  without  shallots  simply  because  you  have  given 
him  a  seventh  child." 

Happily  the  six  francs' so  impatiently  awaited  arrived 
accompanied  by  a  few  others,  and  my  grandmother  was 
able  to  go  to  mass. 

On  re-entering  the  house  with  Mme.  Lalande,  she 
found  my  uncle  stretched  out  in  Machecourt's  leather 
arm-chair,  his  heels  resting  on  the  andirons  and  a  por- 
ringer full  of  hot  wine  in  front  of  him ;  for  I  must  tell 
you  that,  since  his  convalescence,  Benjamin,  grateful  to 
the  hot  wine  that  had  saved  his  life,  took  enough  of  it 
every  morning  to  satisfy  two  naval  officers.  To  justify 
this  tremendous  extra  allowance,  he  said  that  his  tem- 
perature was  still  below  zero. 

"  Benjamin,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  I  have  a  service 
to  ask  of  you." 

"  A  service  ! "  answered  Benjamin,  "  and  what  can  I 
do,  dear  sister,  to  be  agreeable  to  you  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  be  able  to  guess,  Benjamin ;  you  must 
stand  godfather  to  my  last  child." 

Benjamin,  who  had  guessed  nothing  at  all,  and  whom 
this  proposition  took  entirely  unawares,  shook  his  head 
and  uttered  a  big :  "  But "... 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  177 

"  What ! "  said  my  grandmother,  looking  at  him  with 
flashing  eyes,  "  is  it  possible  that  yoti.  would  refuse  me 
that?" 

"  No,  dear  sister,  quite  the  contrary,  but "... 

"  But  what?  You  begin  to  make  me  impatient  with 
your  buts." 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  have  never  been  a  godfather,  and 
I  should  not  know  how  to  perform  my  functions." 

"  Fine  difficulty,  that !  You  will  be  told  what  to  do ; 
I  will  ask  cousin  Guillaumot  to  give  you  some  lessons." 

"I  doubt  neither  the  talent  nor  the  zeal  of  cousin 
Guillaumot ;  but,  if  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  take  les- 
sons in  the  science  of  being  a  godfather,  I  fear  that  this 
study  is  not  suited  to  my  style  of  intelligence ;  perhaps 
you  would  do  batter  to  take  a  well-informed  godfather 
at  the  start;  Gaspard,  for  instance,  who  is  a  choir  boy, 
would  suit  you  perfectly." 

"Come,  Monsieur  Rathery,"  said  Madame  Lalande, 
"  you  must  accept  your  sister's  invitation ;  it  is  a  family 
duty  from  which  you  cannot  be  exempted." 

"  I  see  how  it  is,  Madame  Lalande,"  said  Benjamin ; 
"  although  I  am  not  rich,  I  have  the  reputation  of  doing 
things  well,  and  you  would  as  willingly  deal  with  me  as 
with  Gaspard,  isn't  that  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  fie  !  Benjamin.  Oh,  fie  !  Monsieur  Rathery," 
exclaimed  my  grandmother  and  Madame  Lalande 
together. 

"See,  my  dear  sister,"  continued  Benjamin,  "to  be 
frank  with  you,  I  am  not  anxious  to  be  a  godfather. 
I  am  very  willing  to  bshave  toward  my  nephew  as  if  I 
had  held  him  over  the  baptismal  fonts ;  I  will  listen 
with  satisfaction  to  the  compliment  that  he  shall  ad- 


178  MY  UNCLE 

dress  me  every  year  on  my  birthday,  and,  though  it 
should  be  in  the  style  of  Millot-Rataut,  I  promise  to 
think  it  charming.  I  will  permit  him  to  kiss  me  every 
New  Year's  Day,  and  I  will  give  him  for  his  present 
a  punchinello  that  goes  with  a  spring  or  a  pair  of 
breeches,  just  as  you  prefer.  I  will  even  feel  flattered 
if  you  name  him  Benjamin.  But  to  go  plant  myself 
like  a  big  imbecile  in  front  of  the  baptismal  fonts,  with 
a  candle  in  my  hand,  oh,  no,  dear  sister,  do  not  ask  that 
of  me  ;  my  manly  dignity  is  opposed  to  it ;  I  should  bs 
afraid  that  Djhiarcos  would  laugh  in  my  face.  And 
besides,  how  can  I  declare  that  the  squalling  young  one 
renounces  Satan  and  his  works  ?  Do  I  know  whether 
he  renounces  Satan  and  his  works  ?  What  proves  to 
me  that  he  renounces  the  works  of  Satan?  If  the 
responsibility  of  a  godfather  is  only  a  sham,  as  some 
think,  of  what  use  is  a  godfather,  of  what  use  is  a  god- 
mother, of  what  use  are  two  securities  instead  of  one, 
and  why  have  my  signature  indorsed  by  another  ?  If, 
on  the  contrary,  this  responsibility  is  serious,  why 
should  I  incur  the  consequences?  Our  soul  being  the 
most  precious  thing  that  we  have,  must  not  one  be 
mad  to  put  it  in  pawn  for  that  of  another?  And 
besides,  what  makes  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  have  your 
infant  baptized  ?  Is  it  a  terrine  of  foie  gras  or  a  May- 
ence  ham  which  would  spoil  if  it  were  not  salted  at 
once  ?  Wait  until  he  is  twenty-five ;  then  at  least  he 
will  be  able  to  answer  for  himself,  and,  if  he  needs  a 
security,  I  shall  know  what  I  have  to  do.  Until  he  is 
eighteen,  your  son  will  not  be  able  to  enlist  in  the 
army ;  until  he  is  twenty-one,  he  will  not  be  able  to 
make  a  civil  contract ;  until  he  is  twenty-five,  he  will 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  17(.» 

not  be  able  to  marry  without  your  consent  and  Mache- 
court's ;  and  yet  you  expect  him  at  the  age  of  nine  days 
to  have  sufficient  discrimination  to  choose  a  religion. 
Nonsense !  you  can  see  for  yourself  that  that  is  not 
reasonable." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  lady,"  cried  the  nurse,  frightened  at 
my  uncle's  heterodox  logic,  "  your  brother  is  one  of  the 
damned.  Take  good  care  not  to  let  him  stand  god- 
father to  your  child;  it  would  bring  misfortune." 

"  Madame  Lalande,"  said  Benjamin,  in  a  severe  tone, 
"a  course  in  midwifery  is  not  a  course  in  logic.  It 
would  be  cowardly  on  my  part  to  discuss  with  you ;  I 
will  content  myself  with  asking  you  whether  Saint 
John  baptized  in  the  Jordan,  in  consideration  of  a  ses- 
terce and  a  cornet  of  dried  dates,  the  neophytes  brought 
him  from  Jerusalem  on  their  nurses'  arms." 

"Indeed!"  said  Madame  Lalande,  embarrassed  by 
the  objection,  "  I  would  rather  believe  it  than  go  there 
to  see." 

"  What,  Madame,  you  would  rather  believe  it  than 
go  there  to  see  !  Is  that  the  proper  language  for  a  mid- 
wife well-informed  in  her  religion?  Well,  since  you 
take  that  air,  I  will  do  myself  the  honor  to  confront 
you  with  this  dilemma"  .  .  . 

"  Let  us  alone  with  your  dilemmas,"  interrupted  my 
grandmother;  "does  Madame  Lalande  know  what  a 
dilemma  is?" 

"  What,  Madame  ! "  exclaimed  the  nurse,  piqued  at 
my  grandmother's  observation,  "  I  do  not  know  what  a 
dilemma  is?  I,  the  wife  of  a  surgeon,  do  not  know 
what  a  dilemma  is?  Go  on,  Monsieur  Rathery,  I  am 
listening  to  you." 


180  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"It  is  entirely  useless,"  replied  my  grandmother, 
dryly ;  "  I  have  decided  that  Benjamin  shall  be  god- 
father, and  godfather  he  shall  be ;  there  is  no  dilemma 
in  the  world  that  can  exempt  him  from  it." 

"  I  appeal  to  Machecourt,"  cried  Benjamin. 

"Machecourt  has  condemned  you  in  advance:  he 
went  this  morning  to  Corvol  to  invite  Mile.  Minxit  to 
be  godmother." 

"  So  then,"  cried  my  uncle,  "  they  dispose  of  me  with- 
out my  consent;  they  have  not  even  the  honesty  to 
forewarn  me.  Do  they  take  me  for  a  stuffed  man,  for 
a  gingerbread  man  ?  A  fine  figure  I  shall  cut  with  my 
five  feet  nine  inches  beside  the  five  feet  three  inches 
of  Mile.  Minxit,  who,  with  her  flat  and  calibrated  figure, 
will  look  like  a  greased  Maypole  crowned  with  ribbons. 
Do  you  know  that  the  idea  of  going  to  church  side  by 
side  with  her  has  tormented  me  for  the  last  six  months, 
and  that  the  repugnance  excited  in  me  by  this  disagree- 
able duty  has  almost  made  me  renounce  the  advantage 
of  becoming  her  husband?  " 

"Do  you  see,  Madame  Lalande,"  said  my  grand- 
mother, "  how  facetious  this  Benjamin  is  ?  He  loves 
Mile.  Minxit  passionately,  and  yet  he  must  laugh  at 
her." 

"  Hum  ! "  said  the  nurse. 

Benjamin,  who  had  forgotten  Madame  Lalande,  saw 
that  he  had  been  guilty  of  a  lapsus  linguoe ;  to  escape 
his  sister's  reproaches,  he  hastened  to  declare  that  he 
consented  to  anything  that  they  might  require  of  him, 
and  ran  away  before  the  nurse  had  gone. 

The  baptism  was  to  take  place  the  following  Sunday ; 
my  grandmother  had  dressed  herself  especially  for  the 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  181 

ceremony ;  she  had  authorized  Machecourt  to  invite  all 
his  friends  and  those  of  my  uncle  to  a  solemn  dinner. 
As  for  Benjamin,  he  was  in  a  position  to  meet  the  ex- 
pense that  the  magnificent  rdle  of  godfather  called  for : 
he  had  just  received  from  the  government  a  present  of 
a  hundred  francs  for  the  zeal  which  he  had  displayed  in 
propagating  inoculation  in  the  country,  and  in  rehabili- 
tating the  potato,  attacked  at  once  by  the  agriculturists 
and  the  physicians. " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MY   UNCLE'S    SPEECH   BEFORE    THE    BAILIFF. 

ON  the  following  Saturday,  the  day  before  the  bap- 
tismal ceremony,  my  uncle  was  cited  to  appear  before 
the  bailiff  to  hear  himself  sentenced  under  penalty  of 
imprisonment  to  pay  Monsieur  Bonteint  the  sum  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ten  sous  six  deniers  for 
merchandise  sold  to  him ;  so  it  was  expressed  in  the 
summons,  the  cost  of  which  was  four  francs  five  sous. 
Any  other  than  my  uncle  would  have  deplored  his  fate 
in  all  the  tones  of  elegy ;  but  the  soul  of  this  great  man 
was  inaccessible  to  the  buffets  of  fortune.  The  whirl- 
wind of  misery  which  society  raises  about  itself,  the 
vapor  of  tears  in  which  it  is  enveloped,  could  not  rise 
to  his  height ;  his  body  was  down  deep  in  the  mire  of 
humanity:  when  he  had  drunk  too  much,  he  had  a 
headache ;  when  he  had  walked  too  far,  he  was  tired ; 
when  the  road  was  muddy,  he  splashed  himself  up  to 
his  neck;  and,  when  he  had  no  money  to  pay  his  score, 
the  inn-keeper  charged  it  on  his  ledger ;  but,  like  the 
rock  whose  base  is  beaten  by  the  waves  and  whoso 
brow  is  radiant  in  the  sunlight,  like  the  bird  which  has 
its  nest  in  the  thickets  by  the  wayside  and  lives  amid 
the  .azure  of  the  skies,  his  soul  soared  in  an  upper 
region,  always  calm  and  serene ;  he  had  but  two  needs, 
—  the  satisfaction  of  hunger  and  thirst, —  and,  if  the 
firmament  had  fallen  in  pieces  upon  the  earth,  and 
had  left  one  bottle  intact,  my  uncle  would  have 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  183 

calmly  emptied  it  to  the  resurrection  of  the  crushed 
human  race,  standing  on  a  smoking  fragment  of  some 
star.  To  him  the  past  was  nothing,  and  the  future  was 
nothing  as  yet.  He  compared  the  past  to  an  empty 
bottle,  and  the  future  to  a  chicken  ready  for  the  spit. 

"  What  care  I,"  said  he,  "  what  sort  of  liquor  the  bottle 
contained?  And  as  for  the  chicken,  why  should  I  roast 
myself  in  turning  it  round  and  round  before  the  fire  ? 
Perhaps  when  it  is  cooked  to  a  turn,  when  the  table  is 
laid,  and  when  I  have  put  my  napkin  on,  some  dog  will 
come  along  and  carry  away  the  smoking  fowl  between 
his  teeth. 

'  Eternitd,  n^ant,  bass£,  sombres  abiraes ! ' 

cries  the  poet ;  for  my  part,  all  that  I  should  try  to 
save  from  the  gloomy  abyss  would  be  my  last  red  coat 
if  it  floated  within  my  reach ;  life  is  entirely  in  the 
present,  and  the  present  is  the  passing  moment ;  now, 
what  to  me  is  the  happiness  or  the  sorrow  of  a  mo- 
ment ?  Here  is  a  beggar  and  there  a  millionaire  ;  God 
says  to  them  :  '  You  have  but  a  minute  to  remain  upon 
earth ' ;  this  minute  gone,  he  grants  them  a  second,  then 
a  third,  and  makes  them  live  on  thus  to  the  age  of 
ninety  years.  Do  you  think  that  one  is  really  happier 
than  the  other  ?  Man  himself  is  the  artisan  of  all  the 
miseries  that  afflict  him;  the  pleasures  which  he  con- 
trives are  not  worth  a  quarter  of  the  trouble  that  he 
takes  to  acquire  them.  He  is  like  a  hunter  who  scours 
the  country  all  day  long  for  an  emaciated  hare  or  a 
partridge's  body.  We  boast  of  the  superiority  of  our 
intelligence,  but  what  matters  it  that  we  can  measure 
the  course  of  the  stars,  that  we  can  tell  almost  to  a  sec- 


184  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.      • 

ond  at  what  hour  the  moon  will  pass  between  the  earth 
and  the  sun,  that  we  can  traverse  the  solitudes  of  the 
ocean  With  wooden  boats  or  hempen  sails,  if  we  do  not 
know  how  to  enjoy  the  blessings  which  God  has  placed 
in  our  existence.  The  animals  whom  we  insult  with 
the  name  of  brutes  know  how  to  take  life  much  better 
than  we  do.  The  ass  rolls  about  in  the  grass  and  eats 
it,  without  troubling  himself  about  whether  it  will  grow 
again ;  the  bear  does  not  go  to  guard  a  farmer's  flocks 
in  order  to  have  mittens  and  a  fur  cap  in  the  winter ; 
the  hare  does  not  become  the  drummer  of  a  regiment  in 
the  hope  of  laying  up  provisions  for  his  old  age ;  the 
Vulture  does  not  seek  a  position  as  a  letter-carrier  in 
order  to  wear  a  beautiful  gold  necklace  around  its  bare 
neck:  all  are  content  with  what  nature  has  given 
them,  with  the  bed  which  she  has  prepared  for  them  in 
the  grass  of  the  forests,  with  the  roof  which  she  has 
made  for  them  with  the  stars  and  the  azure  of  the 
firmament. 

"  As  soon  as  a  ray  lights  on  the  plain,  the  bird  begins 
to  twitter  on  its  branch,  the  insect  hums  around  the 
bushes,  the  fish  leaps  to  the  surface  of  its  pool,  the 
lizard  lounges  on  the  warm  stones  of  the  ruin  it  in- 
habits ;  if  some  shower  falls  from  the  clouds,  each  takes 
refuge  in  its  asylum  and  sleeps  there  peacefully  while 
waiting  for  the  morrow's  sun.  Why  does  not  man  do 
likewise  ? 

"  May  it  not  displease  the  great  King  Solomon,  the  ant 
is  the  stupidest  of  animals:  instead  of  enjoying  itself 
during  the  fine  weather  in  the  fields,,  and  getting  its 
share  of  that  magnificent  festival  which  heaven  for  the 
space  of  six  months  gives  the  earth,  it  wastes  all  its 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  185 

summer  hi  piling  one  upon  another  little  scraps  of 
leaves  ;  then,  when  its  city  is  finished,  a  passing  wind 
sweeps  it  away  with  its  wing." 

So  Benjamin  got  Bonteint's  process-server  drunk  and 
used  the  stamped  paper  of  the  summons  to  wrap  some 
ointment  in. 

The  bailiff  before  whom  my  uncle  was  to  appear  was 
so  important  a  personage  that  I  must  not  neglect  to 
give  you  his  portrait.  Besides,  my  grandfather  on  his 
death-bed  expressly  urged  me  to  do  so,  and  for  nothing 
in  the  world  would  I  fail  in  this  pious  duty. 

The  bailiff,  then,  was  born,  like  so  many  others,  of 
poor  parents.  His  first  swaddling-clothes  were  cut  out 
of  a  gendarme  s  old  cloak,  and  he  began  his  studies  in 
jurisprudence  by  cleaning  his  father's  big  sword  and 
currying  his  red  horse.  I  cannot  explain  to  you  how, 
from  the  lowest  rank  of  the  judicial  hierarchy,  the 
bailiff  rose  to  the  highest  judicial  position  in  the  neigh- 
borhood ;  all  that  I  can  tell  you  is  that  the  lizard  as 
well  as  the  eagle  reaches  the  peaks  of  the  high  rocks. 

Among  other  fancies  the  bailiff  had  a  mania  for  being 
a  grand  personage.  The  inferiority  of  his  origin  was 
his  despair.  He  could  not  conceive  how  it  was  that  a 
man  like  himself  was  not  born  a  gentleman.  He  attrib- 
uted it  to  an  error  of  the  Creator.  He  would  have 
given  his  wife,  his  children,  and  his  clerk  for  the  tiniest 
coat  of  arms.  Nature  had  been  to  the  bailiff  a  good 
mother  enough ;  in  truth,  she  had  given  him  his  share 
of  intelligence,  neither  too  much  nor  too  little,  but  she 
had  added  to  this  a  large  dose  of  craft  and  audacity. 
The  bailiff  was  neither  stupid  nor  witty.  He  lingered 
on  the  borderland  of  the  two  camps :  with  this  differ- 


186  MY  FNCLE  BEN  J  A  MIX. 

ence,  however, —  that  he  had  never  set  foot  in  that  of 
the  people  of  wit,  whereas  he  had  made  frequent  excur- 
sions into  the  easy  and  open  territory  of  the  other. 
Unable  to  have  the  wit  of  bright  men,  the  bailiff  had 
contented  himself  with  that  of  fools :  he  made  puns. 
The  lawyers  and  their  wives  made  it  a  duty  to  consider 
these  puns  very  funny;  his  clerk  was  charged  with 
spreading  them  among  the  people,  and  even  with  ex- 
plaining them  to  those  dull  minds  which  at  first  failed 
to  understand  their  meaning.  Thanks  to  this  agreeable 
social  talent,  the  bailiff  had  acquired  in  a  certain  circle 
a  reputation  as  a  man  of  wit ;  but  my  uncle  said  that 
he  purchased  this  reputation  with  counterfeit  coin. 

Was  .the  bailiff  an  honest  man  ?  I  would  not  dare  to 
say  the  contrary.  You  know  the  Code  defines  robbers, 
and  society  regards  as  honest  people  all  those  who  are 
outside  the  definition ;  now,  the  bailiff  was  not  defined 
by  the  Code.  The  bailiff,  by  dint  of  intrigue,  had  suc- 
ceeded in  managing,  not  only  the  business,  but  also  the 
pleasures  of  the  town.  As  a  magistrate,  the  bailiff  was 
a  personage  not  to  be  highly  recommended ;  he  under- 
stood the  law  very  well,  but,  when  it  went  against  his 
hatreds  or  his  sympathies,  he  interpreted  it  to  suit  him 
self.  It  was  charged  that  one  scale  of  his  balance  was 
gold  and  the  other  wood,  and,  in  fact,  I  know  not  how 
it  happened,  but  his  friends  were  always  right  and  his 
enemies  always  wrong.  If  they  were  arraigned  for  an, 
offence,  the  latter  incurred  the  highest  penalty  of  the 
law ;  if  he  could  have  added  to  it,  he  would  have  done 
so  with  a  good  heart.  Nevertheless  the  law  cannot  al- 
ways bend :  when  the  bailiff  found  himself  under  the 
necessity  of  passing  sentence  upon  a  man  whom  he 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  187 

feared  or  from  whom  he  hoped  something,  he  got  out 
of  the  affair  by  declining  to  sit,  and  thus  his  impartial- 
ity was  a  boast  among  his  coterie.  The  bailiff  aimed  at 
universal  admiration :  he  cordially,  but  secretly,  detested 
those  who  obscured  him  by  any  superiority  whatever. 
If  you  pretended  to  believe  in  his  importance,  if  you 
applied  to  him  for  protection,  you  made  him  the  happi- 
est man  in  the  world ;  but,  if  you  refused  to  take  off 
your  hat  to  him,  this  insult  buried  itself  deeply  in  his 
memory,  and  made  a  wound  there,  and,  if  you  had  lived 
a  hundred  years  and  he  also,  never  would  he  have  for- 
given you.  So  it  went  hard  with  the  unfortunate  fellow 
who  abstained  from  saluting  the  bailiff.  If  any  affair 
brought  him  before  his  tribunal,  he  excited  him  by  some 
well-planned  outrage  to  fail  in  respect.  Then  ven- 
geance became  to  him  a  duty,  and  he  put  our  man  in 
prison,  while  deploring  the  fatal  necessity  which  his 
functions  imposed  upon  him.  Often  even,  to  make  his 
grief  seem  more  real,  he  had  the  hypocrisy  to  take  to 
his  bed,  and  on  great  occasions  he  went  so  far  as  to  sub- 
mit to  bleeding. 

The  bailiff  paid  court  to  God  as  well  as  to  the  powers 
of  earth ;  he  was  never  absent  from  high  mass,  and  he 
ahvays  placed  himself  in  the  very  middle  of  the  vestry- 
men's pew.  That  brought  him  every  Sunday  a  share 
of  the  blessed  bread  with  the  protection  of  the  priest. 
If  he  could  have  established  by  an  official  report  that  he 
had  attended  divine  service,  he  undoubtedly  would  have 
done  so.  But  these  little  faults  were  made  up  for  in 
the  bailiff  by  brilliant  qualities.  No  one  understood 
better  than  he  how  to  organize  a  ball  at  the  expense  of 
the  city  or  a  banquet  in  honor  of  the  Due  de  Niver- 


188  MY  TJKCLE   BENJAMIN. 

nais.  On  these  solemn  occasions  lie  was  magnificent  in 
majesty,  appetite,  and  puns;  Lamoignon  or  President 
Mol£  would  have  been  very  small  men  beside  him.  In 
reward  for  the  eminent  services  that  he  rendered  to  the 
city,  he  had  hoped  for  ten  years  to  receive  the  cross  of 
Saint  Louis ;  and,  when  Lafayette  was  decorated  after 
his  American  campaigns,  he  loudly  protested  against 
the  injustice. 

Such  was  the  bailiff  morally;  physically  he  was  a 
fleshy  man,  although  he  had  not  yet  attained  his  full 
majesty ;  his  person  resembled  an  ellipse  swollen  at  the 
bottom;  you  might  have  compared  him  to  an  ostrich- 
egg  standing  on  two  legs.  Perfidious  nature,  which 
beneath  a  fiery  sky  has  given  to  the  manchineel  tree  a 
broad  and  thick  shade,  had  granted  to  the  bailiff  the 
face  of  an  honest  man.  Consequently  he  was  fond  of 
posing,  and  it  was  a  fine  day  in  his  life  when  he  could 
go,  escorted  by  the  firemen,  from  the  tribunal  to  the 
church. 

The  bailiff  always  stood  as  stiff  as  a  statue  on  a 
pedestal :  if  you  had  not  known  him,  you  would  have 
said  that  he  had  a  plaster  of  Burgundy  pitch  or  a  broad 
blister  between  his  shoulders :  he  walked  in  the  street 
as  if  he  had  carried  a  holy  sacrament ;  his  step  was  as 
invariable  as  a  yard-stick:  a  shower  of  spears  would 
not  have  made  him  lengthen  it  an  inch ;  with  the  bailiff 
for  his  single  instrument  an  astronomer  could  have 
measured  an  arc  of  the  meridian. 

My  uncle  did  not  hate  the  bailiff ;  he  did  not  even 
deign  to  despise  him;  but,  in  presence  of  this  moral 
abjection,  he  felt  something  like  a  revolt  of  his  soul, 
and  he  sometimes  said  that  this  man  had  the  effect  upon 
him  of  a  big  toad  crouching  in  a  velvet  arm-chair. 


MY   UNCLE    BENJAMIN.  189 

As  for  the  bailiff,  lie  hated  Benjamin  with  all  the 
energy  of  his  bilious  soul.  The  latter  was  not  ignorant 
of  thiT;  but  he  cared  very  little  about  it. 

My  grandmother,  fearing  a  conflict  between  these 
two  natures  so  diverse,  wanted  Benjamin  to  abstain 
from  going  to  court;  but  the  great  man,  who  had  con- 
fidence in  the  strength  of  his  will,  had  disdained  this 
timid  counsel ;  only,  on  Saturday  morning  he  abstained 
from  taking  his  customary  allowance  of  hot  wine. 

Bonteint's  lawyer  proved  that  his  client  had  a  right 
to  claim  a  judgment  against  my  uncle  for  seizure  of  his 
body.  When  he  had  entirely  finished  his  demonstra- 
tion, the  bailiff  asked  Benjamin  what  he  had  to  say  in 
his  defence. 

"  I  have  but  one  observation  to  make,"  said  my  uncle, 
"but  it  is  worth  more  than  Monsieur's  whole  speech, 
for  it  is  unanswerable :  I  am  five  feet  nine  inches  above 
the  level  of  the  sea  and  six  inches  above  the  level  of  the 
ordinary  man;  I  think"  .  .  . 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  interrupted  the  bailiff,  "how- 
ever tall  a  man  you  may  be,  you  have  no  right  to  joke 
with  justice." 

"  If  I  had  a  desire  to  joke,"  said  my  uncle,  "  it  would 
not  be  with  so  powerful  a  personage  as  Monsieur,  whose 
justice,  moreover,  does  not  joke ;  but  when  I  affirm  that 
I  am  five  feet  nine  inches  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 
I  do  not  perpetrate  a  joke  ;  I  offer  a  serious  defence. 
Monsieur  can  have  me  measured  if  he  doubts  the  truth 
of  my  declaration.  I  think,  then"  .  .  . 

"  Monsieur  Rathery,"  replied  the  bailiff  quickly,  "  if 
you  continue  in  this  tone,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  deprive 
you  of  the  floor." 


190  MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

"  It  is  not  worth  while,"  answered  iny  uncle,  "  for  I 
am  done.  I  think,  then,"  he  added,  hurrying  his  syl- 
lables one  after  another,  "  that  the  body  of  a  man  of  my 
stature  is  not  to  be  seized  for  fifty  miserable  three-franc 
pieces." 

"  According  to  you,"  said  the  bailiff,  "  the  seizure  of 
the  body  could  be  practised  only  on  one  of  your  arms, 
one  of  your  legs,  or  perhaps  even  on  your  cue." 

"In  the  first  place,"  answered  my  uncle,  "I  will  beg 
Monsieur  to  observe  that  my  cue  is  not  in  question ; 
then  I  make  no  pretension  to  the  quality  attributed  to 
me  by  Monsieur;  I  was  born  undivided,  and  I  intend 
to  remain  undivided  all  my  life  ;  but,  a 3  the  security  is 
worth  at  least  double  the  amount  of  the  credit,  I  beg 
Monsieur  to  order  that  the  sentence  for  seizure  of  my 
body  shall  not  be  executed  until  Bonteint  shall  have 
furnished  me  with  three  more  red  coats." 

"  Monsieur  Rathery,  this  is  not  a  tavern ;  I  beg  you 
to  remember  to  whom  you  are  talking ;  your  remarks 
are  as  ill-considered  as  your  person." 

"  Monsieur  bailiff,"  answered  my  uncle,  "  I  have  a 
good  memory,  and  I  know  very  well  to  whom  I  am 
talking.  I  have  been  too  carefully  brought  up  by  my 
dear  sister  in  the  fear  of  God  and  the  gendarmes  to 
allow  me  to  forget  it.  As  for  the  tavern,  since  you 
have  brought  up  the  question  of  the  tavern,  it  is  too 
highly  appreciated  by  honest  people  to  need  to  be 
rehabilitated  by  me.  If  we  go  to  the  tavern,  it  is  be- 
cause, when  we  are  thirsty,  we  have  not  the  privilege 
of  refreshing  ourselves  at  the  expense  of  the  city.  The 
tavern  is  the  wine-cellar  of  those  who  have  none ;  and 
the  wine-cellar  of  those  who  have  one  is  nothing  but  a 


MY   UNCLE   BENJAME*.  191 

tavern  without  a  sign.  It  ill  becomes  those  who  drink 
a  bottle  of  Burgundy  and  something  else  for  their 
dinner  to  abuse  the  poor  devil  who  now  and  then 
regales  himself  at  the  tavern  with  a  pint  of  Croix- 
Pataux.  Those  official  orgies  where  they  get  intoxi- 
cated in  drinking  toasts  to  the  king  and  to  the  Due  de 
Nivernais  are  simply,  euphony  aside,  what  the  people 
call  drinking  bouts.  To  get  drunk  at  one's  table  is 
more  decent,  but  to  get  drunk  at  the  tavern  is  nobler, 
and  more  profitable  to  the  public  treasury  besides.  As 
to  the  consideration  that  attaches  to  my  person,  it  is 
less  extended  than  that  which  Monsieur  can  claim  for 
his,  inasmuch  ^as  I  enjoy  the  consideration  of  honest 
people  only.  But "... 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  cried  the  bailiff,  finding  no 
better  and  easier  answer  to  the  epigrams  with  which  my 
uncle  was  tormenting  him, "  you  are  an  insolent  fellow." 

"  So  be  it,"  replied  Benjamin,  knocking  off  a  straw 
which  had  attached  itself  to  the  facing  of  his  coat,  "  but 
I  must  in  conscience  warn  Monsieur  that  I  have  con- 
fined myself  this  morning  within  the  limits  of  the 
strictest  temperance,  and  that  consequently,  if  he  should 
try  to  make  me  depart  from  the  respect  that  I  owe  to 
his  robe,  he  would  do  so  at  his  costs  of  provocation." 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  exclaimed  the  bailiff,  "your 
allusions  are  insulting  to  justice;  I  fine  you  thirty 
sous  for  contempt." 

"  There  are  three  francs,"  said  my  uncle,  putting  a 
little  coin  on  the  judge's  green  table,  "  take  your  pay  out 
of  that." 

"Monsieur  Rathery,"  cried  the  exasperated  bailiff, 
"  leave  the  room." 


192  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  Monsieur  bailiff,  I  have  the  honor  to  salute  you. 
My  compliments  to  Madame  your  wife,  if  you  please." 

"  I  fine  you  forty  sous  more,"  screamed  the  judge. 

"  What !  "  said  my  uncle,  "  a  fine  of  forty  sous  be- 
cause I  present  my  compliments  to  Madame  your  wife." 

And  he  went  out. 

"  That  devil  of  a  man  !  "  said  the  bailiff  in  the  even- 
ing to  his  wife ;  "  never  would  I  have  supposed  him  so 
moderate.  But  let  him  look  out ;  I  have  issued  a  war- 
rant for  his  arrest,  and  shall  ask  Bonteint  to  execute  it 
immediately.  He  shall  learn  what  it  is  to  defy  me. 
When  I  invite  him  to  the  festivities  given  by  the  city, 
it  will  be  hot,  and  if  I  can  diminish  his  practice  "... 

"  Oh,  fie,  Monsieur !  "  answered  his  wife,  "  are  those 
proper  sentiments  to  be  uttered  by  a  man  who  sits  in 
the  vestrymen's  pew?  And  besides,  what  has  M. 
Rathery  done  to  you  ?  He  is  such  a  merry,  handsome, 
and  amiable  man ! " 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  he  has  done  to  me,  Madame  ; 
he  has  dared  to  remind  me  that  your  father-in-law  was 
a  gendarme  ;  moreover,  he  is  wittier  and  more  honest 
than  I.  Do  you  think  that  a  little  matter  ?  " 

The  next  day  my  uncle  had  ceased  to  think  about  the 
warrant  issued  for  his  arrest ;  he  started  for  the  church, 
powdered  and  solemn,  Mile.  Minxit  on  his  right  and 
his  sword  on  his  left;  he  was  followed  by  Page,  who 
presented  a  smart  appearance  in  his  brown  coat;  by 
Arthus,  whose  abdomen  was  enveloped  to  a  point  be- 
yond its  diameter  by  a  waistcoat  figured  with  large 
branches,  among  which  little  birds  were  fluttering ;  by 
Millot-Rataut,  who  wore  a  brick-colored  wig,  and  whose 
gridelin  tibias  were  marbled  with  black ;  and  by  a  great 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  193 

many  others,  whose  names  it  does  not  please  me  to 
hand  down  to  posterity.  Parlanta  alone  failed  to  an- 
swer to  the  call.  Two  violins  squeaked  at  the  head  of 
the  procession ;  Machecourt  and  his  wife  brought  up 
the  rear.  Benjamin,  always  magnificent,  scattered  by 
the  way  sugar-plums  and  small  coins  from  the  inocula- 
tion money.  Gaspard,  very  proud  to  serve  him  as  a 
pocket,  walked  by  his  side,  carrying  the  sugar-plums  in 
a  big  bag. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HOW   MY   UNCLE    WAS    ARRESTED   BY   PARLANTA   IN    THE 

PERFORMANCE    OF   HIS    FUNCTIONS    AS  GODFATHER, 

AND    PUT    IN   PRISON. 

BUT  quite  another  ceremony  was  in  store  for  him ! 
Parlanta  had  received  from  Bonteint  and  the  bailiff 
express  orders  to  execute  the  warrant  during  the  cere- 
mony ;  he  had  ambushed  his  assistants  in  the  vestibule 
of  the  court-house,  and  was  awaiting  the  procession 
himself  under  the  portal  of  the  church. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  my  uncle's  three-cornered  hat 
emerge  from  the  steps  of  Vieille-Rome,  he  went  up  to 
him  and  summoned  him  in  the  name  of  the  king  to  fol- 
low him  to  prison. 

"  Parlanta,"  answered  my  uncle,  "  your  conduct  is 
hardly  conformable  to  the  rules  of  French  politeness; 
could  you  not  wait  until  to-morrow  to  effect  my  confis- 
cation, and  come  to-day  to  dine  with  us  ?  " 

"If  you  are  very  desirous  of  it,"  said  Parlanta,  "I 
will  wait ;  but  I  warn  you  that  the  bailiff's  orders  are 
explicit,  and  that  I  run  a  risk,  if  I  disregard  them,  of 
incurring  his  resentment  in  this  life  and  in  the  other." 

"  That  being  the  case,  do  your  duty,"  said  Benjamin  ; 
and  he  went  to  ask  Page  to  take  his  place  beside  Mile. 
Minxit ;  then,  bowing  to  the  latter  with  all  the  grace 
that  his  five  feet  nine  inches  would  allow,  he  said : 

"  You  see,  Mademoiselle,  that  I  am  forced  to  separate 
from  you ;  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  nothing  less  than 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  195 

a  summons  in  the  name  of  His  Majesty  could  induce 
me  to  do  such  a  thing.  I  should  have  liked,  if  Parlanta 
had  allowed  me,  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  this  ceremony 
to  the  end;  but  these  sheriff's  officers  are  like  death: 
they  seize  their  prey  wherever  they  find  it,  they  tear  it 
violently  from  the  arms  of  the  loved  one  as  a  child  tears 
a  butterfly  by  its  gauze  wings  from  the  calyx  of  a  rose." 

"  It  is  as  disagreeable  to  me  as  to  you,"  said  Mile. 
Minxit,  pouting  frightfully:  "your  friend  is  a  little 
man  and  as  round  as  a  ball,  and  he  wears  a  wig  a  mar- 
teaux  ;  I  shall  look  like  a  Maypole  beside  him." 

"What  do  you  expect  me  to  do?"  said  Benjamin, 
dryly,  wounded  at  so  much  egoism ;  "  I  cannot  make 
you  any  shorter,  or  M.  Page  any  thinner,  and  I  cannot 
lend  him  my  cue." 

Benjamin  took  leave  of  the  company  and  followed 
Parlanta,  whistling  his  favorite  air : 

"  Malbrough  s'en  va-t-an  guerre." 

He  halted  a  moment  on  the  threshold  of  the  prison 
to  cast  a  last  glance  at  the  free  spaces  which  were  about 
to  close  behind  him;  he  saw  his  sister  motionless  on 
the  arm  of  her  husband,  who  was  following  him  with 
a  distressed  look;  on  seeing  this,  he  pulled  the  door 
violently  after  him,  and  rushed  into  the  prison-yard. 

That  night  my  grandfather  and  his  wife  came  to  see 
him ;  they  found  him  perched  at  the  top  of  a  flight  of 
steps,  throwing  to  his  companions  in  captivity  the  bal- 
ance of  his  sugar-plums,  and  laughing  like  the  happiest 
of  men  to  see  them  scramble  for  them. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  there  ? "  said  my 
grandfather  to  him. 


196  MY  TJNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"You  see  for  yourself,"  answered  Benjamin,  "I  am 
finishing  the  baptismal  ceremony.  Do  you  not  find 
that  these  men  swarming  at  our  feet  to  pick  up  insipid 
sweetmeats  faithfully  represent  society?  Is  it  not  in 
this  way  that  the  poor  inhabitants  of  this  earth  push 
each  other,  crush  each  other,  overturn  each  other,  to 
get  the  blessings  that  God  has  cast  in  the  midst  of 
them  ?  Is  it  not  thus  that  the  strong  man  tramples  the 
weak  man  under  his  feet,  thus  that  the  weak  man 
bleeds  and  cries,  thus  that  he  who  has  taken  everything 
insults  by  his  superb  irony  him  to  whom  he  has  left 
nothing,  and  thus  finally  that,  when  the  latter  dares  to 
complain,  the  other  kicks  him  ?  These  poor  devils  are 
breathless,  covered  with  sweat ;  their  fingers  are  bruised, 
and  their  faces  torn ;  not  one  has  come  out  of  the 
struggle  without  a  scratch  of  some  kind.  If  they  had 
listened  to  their  real  interests  rather  than  to  their  wild 
instinct  of  greed,  instead  of  disputing  over  these  sugar- 
plums as  enemies,  would  they  not  have  shared  them  as 
brothers  ?  " 

"Possibly,"  answered  Machecourt ;  "but  try  not  to 
get  too  lonesome  this  evening  and  to  sleep  well  to-night, 
for  to-morrow  morning  you  will  be  free." 

"  How  so  ?  "  answered  Benjamin. 

"  Because,"  replied  Machecourt,  "  to  get  you  out  of 
this  difficulty,  we  have  sold  our  little  vineyard." 

"  And  is  the  contract  signed  ?  "  inquired  Benjamin, 
anxiously. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  my  grandfather,  "  but  we  are  to  meet 
to-night  to  sign  it." 

"Well,  you,  Machecourt,  and  you,  my  dear  sister, 
pay  careful  attention  to  what  I  am  going  to  say :  if  you 


MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  197 

sell  your  vineyard  to  get  me  out  of  Bonteint's  clutches, 
the  first  use  that  I  shall  make  of  my  liberty  will  be  to 
leave  your  house,  and  never  in  all  your  life  will  you 
see  me  again." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Machecourt,  "the  matter  must 
be  so  arranged ;  one  is  a  brother  or  one  is  not.  I  cannot 
allow  you  to  remain  in  prison  when  I  have  in  my  hands 
the  means  of  restoring  your  liberty.  You  take  things 
as  a  philosopher,  but  I  am  not  a  philosopher.  As  long 
as  you  remain  here,  I  shall  be  unable  to  eat  a-  morsel  or 
drink  a  glass  of  white  wine  for  my  benefit." 

"  And  I,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  do  you  think  that 
I  can  accustom  myself  to  see  you  no  more  ?  Did  not 
our  mother  recommend  you  to  my  care  on  her  death- 
bed? Have  I  not  brought  you  up?  Do  I  not  look 
upon  you  as  the  eldest  of  my  children  ?  And  these  poor 
children,  it  is  pitiable  to  see  them ;  since  you  are  no 
longer  with  us,  one  would  say  there  was  a  coffin  in  the 
house.  They  all  wanted  to  come  with  us  to  see  you, 
and  little  Nanette  was  not  willing  to  touch  her  pie- 
crust, saying  that  she  kept  it  for  her  uncle  Benjamin, 
who  was  in  prison  and  had  only  black  bread  to  eat." 

"This  is  too  much,"  said  Benjamin,  pushing  my 
grandfather  by  the  shoulders ;  "  go  away,  Machecourt, 
and  you  too,  my  dear  sister,  go  away,  I  bag  of  you,  for 
you  will  cause  me  to  be  guilty  of  a  weakness ;  but,  I 
warn  you,  if  you  sell  your  vineyard  to  pay  my  ransom, 
never  in  my  life  will  I  set  eyes  on  you  again." 

"  Nonsense,  you  booby ! "  answered  my  grandmother, 
"is  not  a  brother  more  valuable  than  a  vineyard? 
Would  you  not  do  for  us  what  we  do  for  you,  if  oppor- 
tunity offered  ?  And  when  you  are  rich,  will  you  not 


198  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

aid  us  to  establish  our  children  ?  With  your  profession 
and  your  talents  you  can  return  us  a  hundred  times 
over  what  we  give  you  to-day.  And,  my  God !  what 
would  the  public  say  of  us  if  we  should  leave  you 
behind  the  bars  for  a  debt  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ? 
Come,  Benjamin,  be  a  good  brother,  and  do  not  make  m 
all  unhappy  by  insisting  on  staying  here." 

While  my  grandmother  was  speaking,  Benjamin  had 
his  head  hidden  in  his  hands,  and  was  trying  to  repress 
the  tears  that  were  gathering  under  his  eyelids. 

"  Machecourt,"  he  cried  suddenly,  "  I  can  stand  this 
no  longer;  tell  Boutron  to  bring  me  a  little  glass  of 
wine ;  and  come  and  kiss  me.  See,"  said  he,  pressing 
him  against  his  breast  until  he  cried  with  pain,  "  you 
are  the  first  man  that  I  ever  kissed,  and  these  are  the 
first  tears  that  I  have  shed  since  the  last  time  that  I 
was  flogged." 

And  truly  my  poor  uncle  burst  into  tears.  But  the 
jailer  having  brought  two  little  glasses,  he  had  no 
sooner  emptied  his  than  he  became  as  calm  and  serene 
as  an  April  sky  after  a  shower. 

My  grandmother  again  tried  to  move  him,  but  her 
words  had  no  more  effect  upon  him  than  the  moon's 
rays  upon  an  icicle. 

The  only  thing  that  troubled  him  was  that  the  jailer 
had  seen  him  weep.  So  Machecourt  had  to  keep  his 
vineyard  willy-nilly. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A   BREAKFAST    IN   PRISON. —  HOW   MY   UNCLE    GOT    OUT    OF 
PRISON. 

THE  next  morning,  as  my  uncle  was  promenading  in 
the  prison-yard,  whistling  a  well-known  air,  Arthus 
entered,  followed  by  three  men  carrying  baskets  cov- 
ered with  white  linen. 

"  Good  morning,  Benjamin,"  he  cried :  "  we  come  to 
breakfast  with  you,  since  you  can  no  longer  come  to 
breakfast  with  us." 

At  the  same  time  Page,  Rapin,  Guillerand,  Millot- 
Rataut,  and  Machecourt  marched  in.  Parlanta  brought 
up  the  rear,  looking  a  little  abashed:  my  uncle  went 
up  to  him,  and,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  said : 

"  Well,  Parlanta,  I  hope  you  do  not  bear  me  any  ill- 
will  for  having  made  you  lose  a  good  dinner  yester- 
day." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  answered  Parlanta,  "  I  was  afraid 
that  you  would  be  angry  with  me  for  not  allowing  you 
to  finish  your  baptism." 

"Understand  this,  Benjamin,"  interrupted  Page,  "we 
have  assessed  ourselves  to  get  you  out  of  here  ;  but,  as 
we  have  no  ready  cash,  we  act  as  if  money  had  not  been 
invented ;  we  give  Bonteint  our  respective  services, 
each  according  to  his  profession.  I  will  plead  his  first 
case  for  him ;  Parlanta  will  write  two  summonses  for 
him;  Arthus  will  draw  up  his  will;  Rapin  will  give 
him  two  or  three  consultations  that  will  cost  him  dearer 


200  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

than  he  thinks  ;  Guillerand  will  give  his  children  some 
grammar  lessons  of  indifferent  excellence ;  Rataut,  who 
is  nothing,  inasmuch  as  he  is  a  poet,  engages  himself 
upon  his  honor  to  buy  of  him  all  the  coats  that  he  may 
need  for  the  next  two  years,  which,  in  my  opinion  and 
his,  does  not  engage  him  to  very  much." 

"  And  does  Bonteint  accept  ?  "  said  Benjamin. 

"  Accept ! "  said  Page  ;  "  why !  he  receives  values 
amounting  to  more  than  five  hundred  francs.  Rapin 
arranged  this  affair  with  him  yesterday ;  it  remains  but 
to  draw  up  the  documents." 

"  Well,"  said  my  uncle,  "  I  will  take  my  share  of  this 
good  deed;  I  engage  to  treat  him,  without  any  bill, 
during  the  next  two  sicknesses  with  which  he  may  be 
afflicted.  If  I  kill  him  with  the  first,  his  wife  shall  in- 
herit the  privilege  of  the  second;  as  for  you,  Mache- 
court,  I  permit  you  to  subscribe  a  jug  of  white  wine." 

Meantime  Arthus  had  had  the  table  set  at  the  jailer's. 
He  took  from  the  baskets  the  dishes,  the  contents  of 
which  had  become  somewhat  mixed,  and  placed  them  in 
their  order  on  the  table. 

"  Come,"  he  shouted,  "  let  us  sit  down,  and  a  truce 
to  babbling !  I  do  not  like  to  be  disturbed  when  I  am 
eating;  you  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  chatter  at 
dessert." 

The  breakfast  did  not  taste  at  all  of  the  place  in 
which  it  was  celebrated.  Machecourt  alone  was  a  little 
sad,  for  the  arrangement  made  with  Bonteint  by  my 
uncle's  friends  seemed  to  him  like  a  joke. 

"  Come,  Machecourt,"  cried  Benjamin,  "  your  glass  is 
always  in  your  hand,  full  or  empty;  are  you  the 
prisoner  here,  or  am  I?  By  the  way,  gentlemen,  do 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  201 

you  know  that  Machecourt  came  near  doing  a  good  deed 
yesterday  ?  He  wanted  to  sell  his  good  vineyard  to  pay 
Bonteint  my  ransom." 

"  Magnificent ! "  cried  Page. 

"  Succulent !  "  said  Arthus. 

"  I  consider  it  an  instance  of  morality  in  action,"  de- 
clared Guillerand. 

"  Gentlemen,"  interrupted  Rapin,  "  virtue  must  be 
honored  wherever  one  is  fortunate  enough  to  find  it ;  I 
propose,  therefore,  that  every  time  that  Machecourt  sits 
down  at  table  with  us,  he  shall  ba  given  an  arm-chair." 

"  Adopted ! "  cried  all  the  guests  together,  "  and 
here's  to  Machecourt's  health  !  " 

"  Indeed ! "  said  my  uncle,  "  I  do  not  know  why 
people  are  so  afraid  of  prison.  Is  not  this  fowl  as 
tender,  and  this  Bordeaux  as  fragrant,  on  this  side  of 
the  grating  as  on  the  other  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Guillerand,  "  as  long  as  there  is  grass 
beside  the  walls  to  which  it  is  fastened  the  goat  does 
not  feel  its  tether ;  but  when  the  place  is  stripped,  it 
begins  to  worry  and  tries  to  break  its  tether." 

"To  go  from  the  grass  that  grows  in  the  valley," 
answered  my  uncle,  "  to  that  which  grows  on  the  moun- 
tain is  the  liberty  of  the  goat ;  but  man's  liberty  is  to 
do  only  that  which  befits  him.  He  whose  body  has 
been  seized  but  whose  power  to  think  at  his  will  has 
been  left  him  is  a  hundred  times  freer  than  he  whose 
soul  has  been  left  captive  in  the  chains  of  an  odious 
occupation.  The  prisoner  undoubtedly  passes  sad  hours 
in  contemplating  through  his  bars  the  road  that  winds 
along  the  plain  and  loses  itself  beneath  the  bluish  shade 
of  some  far-off  forest.  He  would  like  to  be  the  poor 


202  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

woman  who  leads  her  cow  along  the  road  while  twirl- 
ing her  distaff,  or  the  poor  wood-cutter  who  goes  back 
loaded  with  boughs  to  his  hut  smoking  above  the  trees. 
But  this  liberty  to  be  where  one  likes,  to  go  straight 
ahead  until  one  is  weary  or  is  stopped  by  a  ditch,  to 
whom  does  it  belong  ?  Is  not  the  paralytic  in  prison 
in  his  bed,  the  merchant  in  his  shop,  the  clerk  in  his 
office,  the  bourgeois  within  the  limits  of  his  little  town, 
the  king  within  the  limits  of  his  kingdom,  and  God 
himself  within  that  icy  circumference  which  confines 
worlds?  You  go  breathless  and  streaming  with  sweat 
over  a  road  burned  with  the  sun;  here  are  tall  trees 
that  spread  beside  you  their  lofty  tiers  of  verdure,  and 
ironically  shake  their  yellow  leaves  upon  your  head; 
you  would  like  very  much  to  remain  a  moment  in  their 
shade,  and  wipe  your  feet  on  the  moss  that  carpets 
their  roots;  but  between  them  and  you  there  is  six 
feet  of  wall  or  the  pointed  bars  of  an  iron  grating. 
Arthus,  Rapin,  and  all  of  you  who  have  only  a  stom- 
ach, who  know  how  only  to  dine  after  having  break 
fasted,  I  do  not  know  whether  you  will  understand  me  » 
but  Millot-Rataut,  who  is  a  tailor  and  makes  songs,  he 
will  understand  me.  I  have  often  desired  to  follow  in 
its  vagabond  peregrinations  the  cloud  driven  by  the 
winds  across  the  sky.  Often  when,  resting  my  elbows 
on  my  window-sill,  I  dreamily  follow  the  moon  which 
seems  to  look  at  me  like  a  human  face,  I  would  like  to 
fly  away  like  a  bubble  of  air  toward  those  mysterious 
solitudes  that  pass  above  my  head,  and  would  give  all 
the  world  to  sit  for  a  moment  on  one  of  those  gigantic 
peaks  which  rend  the  white  surface  of  that  planet. 
"Was  I  not  then  also  a  captive  on  the  earth  as  truly 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  203 

as  the  poor  prisoner  between   the    high  walls   of  his 
prison  ?  " 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Page,  "  one  thing  must  be  ad- 
mitted :  to  the  rich  man  the  prison  is  made  too  pleasant 
and  too  comfortable.  It  corrects  him  like  a  spoiled 
child,  after  the  fashion  of  that  nymph  who  whipped 
Cupid  with  a  rose.  If  you  permit  the  rich  man  to 
carry  to  his  prison  his  kitchen,  his  wine-cellar,  his 
library,  his  parlor,  it  is  not  a  condemned  man  whom 
you  punish,  it  is  a  bourgeois  who  changes  his  lodgings. 
There  you  are  before  a  good  fire,  wrapped  in  your  well- 
lined  dressing  gown;  with  your  feet  on  the  andirons 
you  digest  your  food,  with  stomach  redolent  with 
truffles  and  champagne ;  the  snow-flakes  flutter  by  the 
bars  of  your  window,  while  you  blow  toward  the  ceiling 
the  white  smoke  of  your  cigar.  You  dream,  you  think, 
you  build  castles  in  Spain  or  write  poetry.  By  your 
side  is  your  newspaper,  that  friend  which  we  quit, 
which  we  recall,  and  which  we  finally  dismiss  when  it 
becomes  too  tiresome.  Tell  me,  what  is  there  in  such 
a  situation  that  resembles  a  penalty  ?  Have  you  not 
thus  passed  hours,  days,  entire  weeks,  without  leaving 
your  house  ?  What,  meanwhile,  is  the  judge  doing, 
who  has  had  the  barbarity  to  condemn  you  to  this 
torture?  He  is  hearing  cases  from  eleven  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  shivering  in  his  black  robe  and  listening 
to  the  paternosters  of  some  lawyer  who  repeats  himself. 
Meanwhile,  catarrh  with  its  torpid  clutch  seizes  his 
lungs,  or  a  chilblain  with  its  sharp  tooth  bites  his  toes. 
You  say  that  you  are  not  free  !  On  the  contrary,  you 
are  a  hundred  times  freer  than  in  your  house ;  your 
whole  day  belongs  to  you ;  you  get  up  when  you  like, 


204  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

go  to  bed  when  you  like,  do  what  you  like,  and  you  are 
no  longer  obliged  to  shave. 

"  Take  Benjamin,  for  instance,  who  is  a  prisoner :  do 
you  think  that  Bonteint  has  served  him  such  a  bad  turn 
in  getting  him  shut  up  here  ?  He  was  often  obliged  to 
rise  before  the  street  lamps  went  out.  With  one  stock- 
ing on  wrong  side  out,  he  went  from  door  to  door,  to 
inspect  this  one's  tongue  and  feel  that  one's  pulse. 
When  he  had  finished  in  one  direction,  he  had  to  begin 
again  in  another ;  he  splashed  himself  in  the  cross-roads 
up  to  his  cue,  and  his  peasant  generally  had  nothing  to 
offer  him  but  curds  and  black  bread.  When  he  had 
come  home  at  night  very  tired,  had  settled  himself  com- 
fortably in  his  bed,  and  was  beginning  to  taste  the  joys 
of  the  early  hours  of  sleep,  he  was  brutally  awakened  to 
go  to  the  aid  of  the  mayor  choking  with  indigestion,  or 
of  the  bailiff's  wife  in  the  midst  of  a  miscarriage.  Now, 
here  he  is,  rid  of  all  this  bustle.  He  is  as  well  situated 
here  as  a  rat  in  a  Dutch  cheese.  Bonteint  has  made 
him  a  present  of  a  little  income,  which  he  eats  as  a  phi- 
losopher. He  is  really  the  lily  of  the  gospel,  which 
neither  bleeds  nor  purges  and  yet  is  well  fed,  which 
neither  toils  nor  spins  and  yet  is  arrayed  in  a  magnificent 
red  robe.  Truly,  we  are  dupes  to  pity  him,  and  actual 
enemies  of  his  comfort  to  try  to  get  him  out  of  here." 

"One  is  comfortable  here,  I  grant,"  answered  my 
uncle,  "  but  I  would  quite  as  willingly  be  uncomfort- 
able somewhere  else.  That  shall  not  prevent  me  from 
admitting,  as  Page  has  shown  you,  not  only  that  the 
prison  is  too  comfortable  for  the  rich  man,  but  also  that 
it  is  too  comfortable  for  everybody.  It  is  undoubtedly 
hard  to  cry  to  the  law  when  it  scourges  a  poor  fellow: 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  205 

'  Strike  harder ;  you  do  not  hurt  him  enough ' ;  but  it 
is  very  necessary  to  guard  also  against  that  unintelli- 
gent and  near-sighted  philanthropy  which  sees  nothing 
beyond  his  misfortune.  Real  philosophers,  like  Guil- 
lerand,  like  Millot-Rataut,  like  Parlanta,  in  a  word,  like 
all  of  us,  should  consider  men  only  en  masse,  as  we  con- 
sider a  wheat  field.  A  social  question  should  always  be 
examined  from  the  standpoint  of  the  public  interest. 
You  have  distinguished  yourself  by  a  fine  feat  of  arms, 
and  the  king  decorates  you  with  the  cross  of  Saint 
Louis;  do  you  think  that  it  is  because  he  wishes  you 
well  and  in  the  interest  of  your  individual  glory  that 
His  Majesty  authorizes  you  to  wear  his  gracious  image 
upon  your  breast  ?  Alas !  no,  my  poor  brave ;  it  is  in 
his  own  interest  first,  and  then  in  that  of  the  State  ;  it 
is  in  order  that  those  who,  like  you,  have  hot  blood  in 
their  veins,  seeing  you  so  generously  rewarded,  may 
imitate  your  example.  Now,  suppose  that,  instead  of  a 
good  deed,  you  have  committed  a  crime ;  you  have 
killed,  not  three  or  four  men  who  do  not  wear  the  same 
kind  of  coat-collar  that  you  do,  but  a  good  bourgeois  of 
your  own  country.  The  judge  has  sentenced  you  to 
death,  and  the  king  has  refused  to  pardon  you.  There 
is  nothing  left  for  you  now  but  to  draw  up  your  gen- 
eral confession  and  begin  your  lamentation.  Now, 
what  feeling  moved  the  judge  to  pass  this  sentence 
upon  you?  Did  he  wish  to  rid  society  of  you,  as  when 
one  kills  a  mad  dog,  or  to  punish  you,  as  when  one 
whips  an  ugly  child?  In  the  first  place,  if  his  object 
had  been  simply  to  cut  you  off  from  society,  a  very 
deep  cell  with  a  very  thick  door  and  a  loop-hole  for  a 
window  would  have  been  amply  sufficient  for  that. 


206  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

Then,  the  judge  often  condemns  to  death  a  man  who 
has  attempted  to  commit  suicide,  and  to  prison  a  poor 
fellow  to  whom  he  knows  that  the  prison  will  be  hos- 
pitable. Is  it,  then,  to  punish  them  that  he  grants 
these  two  good-for-nothings  precisely  what  they  ask; 
that  he  performs  for  one,  to  whom  existence  is  a  torture, 
an  operation  that  ends  his  life,  and  that  he  grants  to  the 
other,  who  has  neither  bread  nor  roof,  a  place  of  refuge  ? 
The  judge  wishes  but  one  thing ;  he  wishes  to  frighten 
by  your  torture  those  who  would  be  tempted  to  follow 
your  example. 

" '  People,  take  care  that  you  do  not  kill,'  that  is  all 
that  your  sentence  means.  If  you  could  substitute  for 
yourself  under  the  knife  a  mannikin  who  resembles 
you,  it  would  be  all  the  same  to  the  judge ;  if  even, 
after  the  executioner  had  cut  off  your  head  and  shown 
it  to  the  people,  he  could  resuscitate  you,  I  am  very- 
sure  he  would  do  so  willingly ;  for,  after  all,  the  judge 
is  a  good  man,  and  he  would  not  like  to  have  his  cook 
kill  a  chicken  before  his  eyes.  They  cry  very  loudly, 
and  you  proclaim  it  yourselves,  that  it  is  better  to  acquit 
ten  guilty  men  than  to  condemn  one  innocent  man. 
That  is  the  most  deplorable  of  the  absurdities  to  which 
fashionable  philanthropy  has  given  birth  ;  it  is  an  anti- 
social principle.  I  maintain,  for  my  part,  that  it  is 
better  to  condemn  ten  innocent  men  than  to  acquit  a 
single  guilty  man." 

At  these  words,  all  the  guests  raised  a  great  outcry 
against  my  uncle. 

"  No,  indeed,"  cried  my  uncle,  "  I  am  not  joking,  and 
this  subject  is  not  one  to  excite  laughter.  I  express 
a  firm,  powerful,  and  long-settled  conviction.  The 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  207 

whole  city  pities  the  innocent  man  who  mounts  the 
scaffold;  the  newspapers  resound  with  lamentations, 
and  your  poets  take  him  for  the  martyr  of  their  dramas. 
But  how  many  innocent  men  perish  in  your  rivers,  on 
your  highways,  in  the  depths  of  your  mines,  or  even  in 
your  workshops,  torn  to  pieces  by  the  ferocious  teeth  of 
your  machines,  those  gigantic  animals  that  seize  a  man 
by  surprise  and  swallow  him  before  your  eyes,  you  un- 
able to  render  him  any  aid.  Yet  their  death  hardly 
tears  an  exclamation  from  you.  You  pass  by,  and  a 
few  steps  farther  on  you  think  no  more  about  it.  You 
even  forget  to  tell  your  wife  of  it  at  dinner.  The  next 
day  the  newspaper  buries  him  in  one  corner  of  its  pages, 
throws  over  his  body  a  few  lines  of  heavy  prose,  and  all 
is  ended.  Why  this  indifference  for  one  and  this  super- 
abundance of  pity  for  the  other?  Why  ring  one's 
funeral  knell  with  a  little  bell  and  the  other's  with 
a  big  one  ?  Is  a  mistaken  judge  a  more  terrible  acci- 
dent than  an  overturned  stage-coach  or  a  disarranged 
machine  ?  Do  not  my  innocents  make  as  big  a  hole  in 
society  as  yours,?  Do  they  not  leave  the  wife  a  widow 
and  the  children  orphans  as  well  as  yours  ? 

"  Undoubtedly  it  is  not  agreeable  to  go  to  the  scaffold 
for  another,  and  I  who  speak  to  you  admit  that,  if  the 
thing  should  happen  to  me,  I  should  be  very  much  put 
out.  But,  in  relation  to  society,  what  is  this  little 
blood  that  the  executioner  sheds?  A  drop  of  water 
that  oozes  from  a  reservoir,  a  bruised  acorn  that  falls 
from  an  oak.  An  innocent  man  condemned  by  a  judge 
is  a  consequence  of  the  distribution  of  justice,  as  the 
fall  of  a  carpenter  from  the  top  of  a  house  is  a  conse- 
quence of  the  fact  that  man  shelters  himself  under  a 


208  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

roof.  Out  of  a  thousand  bottles  that  a  workman  makes, 
he  breaks  at  least  one ;  out  of  a  thousand  sentences  that 
a  judge  passes,  one  at  least  will  be  unjust.  It  is  an  evil 
that  is  expected,  and  for  which  there  could  be  no  pos- 
sible remedy  except  the  total  suppression  of  justice. 
Take  an  old  woman  sifting  beans  ;  what  would  you  say 
of  her  if,  through  fear  of  throwing  away  a  good  one, 
she  should  keep  all  the  rubbish  which  she  found  with 
it?  Would  it  not  be  the  same  with  the  judge  who, 
through  fear  of  condemning  one  innocent  man,  should 
acquit  ten  guilty? 

"  Moreover,  the  condemnation  of  an  innocent  man  is 
a  rare  thing ;  it  marks  an  epoch  in  the  annals  of  justice. 
It  is  almost  impossible  that  a  fortuitous  concourse  of 
circumstances  should  so  unite  against  a  man  as  to  over- 
whelm him  with  charges  which  he  cannot  disprove. 
And  even  in  such  a  case  I  maintain  that  there  is  in  the 
attitude  of  an  accused  man,  in  his  look,  in  his  gesture, 
in  the  sound  of  his  voice,  elements  of  evidence  which 
cannot  escape  the  judge.  Besides,  the  death  of  an  in- 
nocent man  is  only  an  individual  misfortune,  while  the 
acquittal  of  a  guilty  man  is  a  public  calamity.  Crime 
listens  at  the  doors  of  your  court-room  ;  it  knows  what 
goes  on  inside,  it  calculates  the  chances  of  safety  which 
your  indulgence  leaves  it.  It  applauds  you  when, 
through  exaggerated  caution,  it  sees  you  acquit  a  guilty 
man,  for  it  is  crime  itself  that  you  acquit.  Justice  un- 
doubtedly should  not  be  too  severe ;  but,  when  it  is 
too  indulgent,  it  abdicates,  it  annuls  itself.  From  that 
time  forward  men  predestined  to  crime  abandon  them- 
selves without  fear  to  their  instincts,  and  no  longer  see 
in  their  dreams  the  sinister  face  of  the  executioner ;  be- 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  209 

tween  them  and  their  victims  the  scaffold  no  longer 
rises ;  they  take  your  money  provided  they  need  it,  and 
your  life  provided  it  stands  in  their  way.  You  applaud 
yourselves,  good  people,  at  having  saved  an  innocent 
man  from  the  axe,  but  you  have  caused  twenty  to  die 
by  the  dagger.  There  is  a  balance  of  nineteen  murders 
to  be  charged  to  your  account. 

"And  now  I  come  back  to  the  prison.  The  prison, 
in  order  to  inspire  a  healthy  terror,  must  be  a  place  of 
torture  and  misery.  Nevertheless,  there  are  in  France 
fifteen  millions  of  men  who  are  more  miserable  in  their 
houses  than  the  prisoner  behind  his  bars.  '  Too  happy 
the  man  of  the  fields  if  he  knows  his  happiness,'  says 
the  poet.  That's  all  very  well  in  an  idyl.  The  man  of 
the  fields  is  the  thistle  of  the  mountain ;  not  a  glowing 
ray  of  sunlight  that  does  not  burn  him,  not  a  breath  of 
the  north  wind  that  does  not  bite  him,  not  a  shower 
that  he  must  not  undergo ;  he  toils  from  the  morning 
Angelus  till  the  evening  Angelus ;  he  has  an  old  father, 
and  he  cannot  mitigate  the  severity  of  his  old  age ;  he 
has  a  beautiful  wife,  and  he  can  give  her  nothing  but 
rags ;  he  has  famishing  children  continually  calling  for 
bread,  and  often  there  is  not  a  crumb  in  the  bin.  The 
prisoner,  on  the  contrary,  is  warmly  clad  and  sufficiently 
fed ;  before  having  a  piece  of  bread  to  put  in  his  mouth, 
he  is  not  obliged  to  earn  it.  He  laughs,  he  sings,  he 
plays,  he  sleeps  on  his  straw  "as  long  as  he  likes,  and 
yet  he  is  the  object  of  public  pity.  Charitable  persons 
organize  themselves  into  societies  to  make  his  prison 
less  uncomfortable,  and  they  do  this  so  well  that,  in- 
stead of  a  penalty,  his  imprisonment  becomes  a  reward. 
Beautiful  ladies  make  his  kettle  simmer,  and  season 
his  soup ;  they  preach  morality  to  him  with  white  bread 


210  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

and  meat.  Surely  to  the  toilsome  liberty  of  the  fields 
or  the  shop,  this  man  will  prefer  the  careless  and  com- 
fortable captivity  of  the  prison.  The  prison  ought  to 
be  the  hell  of  the  city ;  I  should  like  to  see  it  rise  in 
the  middle  of  the  public  square,  gloomy  and  clad  in 
black  like  the  judge ;  through  its  little  grated  windows 
it  should  cast  sinister  looks  at  the  passers-by;  from 
within  it  should  arise,  instead  of  songs,  the  noise  of 
clanking  chains  or  barking  dogs ;  the  old  man  should 
fear  to  rest  under  its  walls ;  the  child  should  not  dare 
to  play  within  its  shadow ;  the  bslated  bourgeois  should 
turn  out  of  his  road  to  avoid  it,  and  separate  himself 
from  it  as  he  separates  himself  from  the  graveyard. 
Only  on  this  condition  will  you  obtain  from  the  prison 
the  result  that  you  expect  of  it." 

My  uncle  perhaps  would  be  discussing  still,  if  M. 
Minxit  had  not  arrived  to  cut  short  his  argument. 
The  worthy  man  was  streaming  with  perspiration ; 
he  sucked  in  the  air  like  a  porpoise  stranded  on  the 
beach,  and  was  as  red  as  my  uncle's  coat. 

"  Benjamin,"  he  cried,  mopping  his  forehead,  "I  have 
come  to  take  you  to  breakfast  with  me." 

"How  so,  Monsieur  Minxit?"  cried  all  the  guests 
together. 

"  Why,  because  Benjamin  is  free ;  that  is  the  whole 
of  the  mystery.  Here,"  he  added,  pulling,  a  paper 
from  his  pocket  and  handing  it  to  Boutron,  "  this  is 
Bonteint's  receipt." 

"  Bravo,  Monsieur  Minxit !  " 

And  everybody,  rising,  glass  in  hand,  drank  to  M. 
Minxit's  health.  Machecourt  tried  to  rise,  but  he  fell 
back  on  his  chair ;  joy  had  almost  deprived  him  of  his 
senses;  Benjamin  chanced  to  cast  a  glance  at  him. 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  211 

"  What,  Machecourt ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  are  you 
mad?  Drink  to  Minxit's  health,  or  I  bleed  you  on 
the  spot." 

Machecourt  rose  mechanically,  emptied  his  glass  at 
one  swallow,  and  began  to  weep. 

"  My  good  Monsieur  Minxit,"  continued  Benjamin, 
"may  1"  .  .  . 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  the  latter,  "  I  see  how  it  is :  you  are 
about  to  thank  me ;  well,  I  relieve  you  of  that  duty, 
my  poor  fellow  ;  it  is  for  my  own  fine  eyes  and  not  for 
yours  that  I  take  you  out  of  here  ;  you  know  very  well 
that  I  cannot  get  along  without  you.  You  see,  gentle- 
men, in  all  the  actions  that  seem  the  most  generous 
there  is  only  egoism.  If  this  maxim  is  not  consoling, 
it  is  not  my  fault,  but  it  is  true." 

"  Monsieur  Boutron,"  said  Benjamin,  "is  Bonteint's 
receipt  in  regular  form  ?  " 

"  I  see  nothing  defective  about  it  except  a  big  blot 
which  the  honest  tailor  has  doubtless  added  by  way  of 
a  flourish." 

"In  that  case,  gentlemen,"  said  Benjamin,  "permit 
me  to  go  to  my  dear  sister  to  announce  this  good  news 
to  her  myself." 

"  I  follow  you,"  said  Machecourt,  "  I  wish  to  be  a 
witness  of  her  joy ;  never  have  I  been  so  happy  since 
the  day  when  Gaspard  came  into  the  world." 

"  You  will  permit  me,"  said  M.  Minxit,  sitting 
down  to  table.  "  Monsieur  Boutron,  another  plate. 
For  that  matter,  gentlemen,  I  will  do  as  much  for  you ; 
this  evening  I  invite  you  to  supper  at  Corvol." 

This  proposition  was  welcomed  with  acclamation  by 
all  the  guests.  After  breakfast  they  retired  to  the  cafS 
to  await  the  hour  for  starting. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A    TRIP    TO    COKVOL. 

THE  waiter  came  to  tell  my  uncle  that  there  was  an 
old  woman  at  the  door  who  wanted  to  speak  to  him. 

"  Tell  her  to  come  in,"  said  Benjamin,  "  and  give  her 
some  refreshment." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  waiter,  "  but  you  see  the  old 
woman  is  not  at  all  inviting.  She  is  ragged,  and  she  is 
weeping  tears  as  big  as  my  little  finger." 

"  She  is  weeping !  "  cried  my  uncle  ;  "  and  why,  you 
scamp,  didn't  you  tell  me  that  at  once?" 

And  he  hastened  out. 

The  old  woman  who  had  called  for  my  uncle  was 
indeed  shedding  big  tears,  which  she  wiped  away  with 
an  old  piece  of  red  calico. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  good  woman  ?  "  said  Benja- 
min, in  a  tone  of  politeness  that  he  did  not  assume 
toward  everyone,  "  and  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  You  must  come  to  Sembert,"  said  the  old  woman, 
"to  see  my  sick  son." 

"  Sembert !  That  village  at  the  top  of  Monts-le-Duc  ? 
Why,  that's  half  way  to  heaven  !  All  the  same,  I  will 
call  there  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"If  you  do  not  come  to-day,"  said  the  old  woman, 
"  to-morrow  the  priest  will  come  with  his  black  cross, 
and  perhaps  it  is  already  too  late,  for  my  son  is  afflicted 
with  a  carbuncle." 

"  That  is  awkward  for  your  son  and  for  me ;  but,  to 


MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  21 8 

accommodate  everybody,  could  you  not  apply  to  my 
confrere  Arnout?" 

"I  have  applied  to  him;  but,  as  he  is  acquainted 
with  our  poverty  and  knows  that  he  will  not  be  paid 
for  his  visits,  he  would  not  disturb  himself." 

"What!"  said  my  uncle,  "you  have  no  money  with 
which  to  pay  your  doctor?  In  that  case,  it  is  another 
matter ;  that  concerns  me.  I  ask  you  to  allow  me  only 
time  enough  to  empty  a  little  glass  that  I  have  left  on 
the  table,  and  I  am  with  you.  By  the  way,  we  shall 
need  some  Peruvian  bark ;  so  here  is  a  little  coin ;  go 
to  Perier's  and  buy  a  few  ounces;  you  will  tell  him 
that  I  did  not  have  time  to  write  a  prescription." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  my  uncle  was  toiling,  side 
by  side  with  the  old  woman,  up  those  uncultivated  and 
savage  slopes  that  take  their  roots  in  the  faubourg  of 
Bethle'em  and  terminate  in  the  broad  plateau  on  top  of 
which  the  hamlet  of  Sembert  is  perched. 

M.  Minxit's  guests,  for  their  part,  started  off  in  a  cart 
drawn  by  four  horses.  The  inhabitants  of  the  faubourg 
of  Beuvron  had  placed  themselves  in  their  doorways, 
candle  in  hand,  to  see  them  pass,  and  it  was  indeed  a 
more  curious  phenomenon  than  an  eclipse.  Arthus  was 
singing  " Aussitot  que  la  lumiere" ;  Guillerand,  " Mal- 
brouf/h  s'en  va-t-en  guerre  "  ;  and  the  poet  Millot,  Avhom 
they  had  fastened  to  one  of  the  cart-stakes  because  he 
did  not  seem  very  solid,  struck  up  his  "  Grand  Noel" 
M.  Minxit  prided  himself  on  an  extraordinary  magnifi- 
cence ;  he  gave  his  guests  a  memorable  supper,  which 
is  to  this  day  a  topic  of  conversation  at  Corvol.  Un- 
fortunately he  was  so  prodigal  with  his  toasts  that, 
when  they  reached  the  second  course,  his  guests  were 


214  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

unable  to  raise  their  glasses.  At  this  point  Benjamin 
arrived.  He  was  worn  with  fatigue  and  in  a  humor  to 
massacre  everything,  for  his  patient  had  died  on  his 
hands,  and  he  had  fallen  down  twice  on  the  road.  But 
in  him  no  sorrows  or  vexations  could  stand  before  a 
white  table-cloth  adorned  with  bottles ;  so  he  sat  down 
to  table  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"  Your  friends,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "  are  novices ;  I 
should  have  expected  more  solidity  from  sheriff's  offi- 
cers, manufacturers,  and  school-teachers ;  I  shall  not 
have  the  satisfaction  of  offering  them  any  champagne. 
And  here  is  Machecourt  who  doesn't  know  you,  and 
Guilleraud  is  offering  Arthus  his  snuff-box  instead  of 
his  glass." 

"  What  do  you  expect  ? "  answered  Benjamin ; 
"  everybody  is  not  of  your  strength,  Monsieur  Minxit." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  worthy  man,  flattered  by  the 
compliment,  "but  what  are  we  going  to  do  with  all 
these  milksops?  I  have  no  beds  for  them  all,  and 
they  are  not  in  a  condition  to  go  back  to  Clamecy  to- 
night." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  greatly  embarrassed,"  said  my 
uncle;  "have  some  straw  spread  in  your  barn,  and  as 
fast  as  they  go  to  sleep,  you  can  send  them  out  on  a 
litter;  you  can  cover  them,  lest  they  may  catch  cold, 
with  the  big  matting  that  you  put  over  your  bed  of 
little  radishes  to  keep  the  frost  from  them." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  M.  Minxit. 

He  sent  for  two  musicians  commanded  by  the  ser- 
geant, and  the  plan  proposed  by  my  uncle  was  carried 
out  to  the  letter.  Millot  was  not  slow  in  going  to 
sleep,  and  the  sergeant  swung  him  over  his  shoulder 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  215 

and  carried  him  off  as  if  he  were  a  clock-case.  The 
transportation  of  Rapin,  Parlanta,  and  the  others  pre- 
sented no  serious  difficulties;  but,  when  they  came  to 
Arthus,  they  found  him  so  heavy  that  they  had  to  let 
him  sleep  where  he  lay.  As  for  my  uncle,  he  emptied 
his  last  bumper  of  champagne,  and  then  started  in  his 
turn  for  the  barn  to  bid  them  good-night. 

The  next  morning,  when  M.  Minxit's  guests  rose, 
they  resembled  sugar-loaves  just  taken  from  their  cases, 
and  it  required  all  the  domestics  of  the  establishment 
to  rid  them  of  the  straw  with  which  they  were  cov- 
ered. After  having  breakfasted  off  the  second  course 
which  they  had  left  intact  the  night  before,  they 
started  off  with  their  four  horses  on  a  brisk  trot. 

They  would  have  reached  Clamecy  very  happily,  but 
for  a  little  incident  that  happened  on  the  way;  the 
horses,  made  impetuous  by  the  whip,  overturned  the 
cart  into  one  of  the  thousand  gullies  with  which  the 
road  was  lined,  and  they  all  fell  pell-mell  into  the  mud. 
The  poet  Millot,  who  was  always  unlucky,  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  find  himself  under  Arthus. 

Benjamin,  fortunately  for  his  coat,  had  remained  at 
Corvol.  M.  Minxit  entertained  at  dinner  that  da}7  all 
the  celebrities  of  the  neighborhood,  and  among  others 
two  noblemen.  One  of  these  illustrious  guests  was  M. 
de  Pont-Casse*,  a  red  musketeer ;  the  other  was  a  mus- 
keteer of  the  same  color,  a  friend  of  M.  de  Font-Casse", 
and  whom  the  latter  had  invited  to  spend  a  few  weeks 
with  him  in  the  remains  of  his  castle.  Now,  M.  de  Pont- 
Casse*,  into  whose  confidence  we  have  already  taken 
our  readers,  would  not  have  been  displeased  to  repair 
the  damages  which  his  own  fortune  had  suffered  with 


216  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

that  of  M.  Minxit,  and  he  had  his  eye  on  Arabelle, 
although  he  dften  told  his  friends  that  she  was  an  in- 
sect born  in  urine.  Arabelle  had  allowed  herself  to  be 
taken  in  by  the  extravagance  of  his  fine  manners ;  she 
thought  him  much  handsomer  with  his  faded  plumes  and 
much  more  amiable  with  his  court  rubbish  than  my 
uncle  with  his  unpretentious  wit  and  his  red  coat. 
But  M.  Minxit,  who  was  a  man  not  only  of  wit,  but  of 
common  sense,  was  not  at  all  of  this  opinion;  though 
M.  de  Pont-Cass£  had  been  a  colonel,  he  would  not 
have  given  him  his  daughter.  He  had  kept  Benjamin 
to  dinner  in  order  that  Arabelle  might  institute  a  com- 
parison between  her  two  adorers  which,  in  his  opinion, 
could  not  be  to  the  musketeer's  advantage,  and  also 
because  he  relied  on  my  uncle  to  efface  the  tinsel  of 
the  two  noblemen  and  'mortify  their  pride. 

Benjamin,  while  waiting  for  dinner,  went  to  take  a 
walk  in  the  village.  As  he  left  M.  Minxit's  grounds, 
he  saw  a  pair  of  officers  coming  down  the  street,  who 
would  not  have  turned  out  for  a  mail-coach,  and  at 
whom  the  peasants  were  staring  in  wonder.  My  uncle 
was  not  a  man  to  disturb  himself  about  so  small  a 
matter;  nevertheless,  as  he  passed  by  them,  he  very 
distinctly  heard  one  of  them  say  to  his  companion : 
"Say,  that  is  the  queer  chap  who  wants  to  marry  Mile. 
Minxit."  My  uncle's  first  impulse  was  to  ask  them 
why  they  thought  him  so  queer;  but  he  reflected  that 
it  would  be  scarcely  becoming,  although  he  generally 
cared  very  little  for  the  proprieties,  to  make  a  spectacle 
of  himself  before  the  inhabitants  of  Corvol.  So  he 
acted  as  if  he  had  heard  nothing,  and  entered  the  house 
of  his  friend  the  tabellion. 


MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  217 

"  I  have  just  met  in  the  street,"  said  he,  "  two  fellows 
who  looked  like  plumed  lobsters,  and  who  almost  in- 
snlted  me ;  could  you  tell  me  to  what  family  of  the 
Crustacea  these  queer  fellows  belong?" 

"  Oh,  the  devil !  "  said  the  tabellion,  seemingly  fright- 
ened, "don't  try  any  of  your  jokes  in  that  direction: 
one  of  them,  M.  de  Pont-Cassd,  is  the  most  dangerous 
duellist  of  our  epoch,  and  of  all  those  who  have  gone 
on  the  duelling-ground  with  him  not  one  has  come  back 
safe  and  sound." 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  my  uncle. 

The  village  clock  having  struck  two,  he  took  his 
friend  the  tabellion  by  the  arm,  and  went  back  with 
him  to  M.  Minxit's.  The  company  was  already  gath- 
ered in  the  parlor,  and  only  waiting  for  them  in  order 
to  sit  down  at  table. 

The  two  noblemen,  who  acted  in  the  presence  of 
these  countrymen  as  if  they  were  in  a  conquered 
country,  monopolized  the  conversation  from  the  start. 
M.  de  Pont-Cass£  did  not  cease  twirling  his  moustache, 
and  talking  of  the  court,  of  his  duels,  and  of  his 
amorous  exploits.  Arabelle,  who  had  never  heard  such 
magnificent  things,  took  great  pleasure  in  his  remarks. 
My  uncle  noticed  this;  but,  as  Mile.  Minxit  was  indif- 
ferent to  him,  he  thought  it  none  of  his  concern.  M.  de 
Pont-Casse",  piqued  at  the  little  effect  which  he  pro- 
duced upon  Benjamin,  addressed  him  some  remarks 
that  bordered  on  insolence ;  but  my  uncle,  sure  of  his 
strength,  disdained  to  pay  any  attention  to  them,  and 
occupied  himself  solely  with  his  glass  arid  his  plate. 
M.  Minxit  was  scandalized  at  the  careless  voracity  of 
his  champion. 


218  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIX. 

"Don't  you  understand  what  M.  de  Pont-Casse* 
means  ?  "  cried  the  good  man ;  "  of  what  are  you  think- 
ing, Benjamin?" 

"Of  dinner,  Monsieur  Minxit,  and  I  advise  you  to  do 
the  same ;  for  I  believe  that  is  the  purpose  for  which 
you  asked  us  here." 

M.  de  Pont-Cass6  had  too  much  pride  to  believe  that 
he  could  be  spared.  He  took  my  uncle's  silence  for  a 
confession  of  his  inferiority,  and  began  a  more  direct 
attack. 

"I  have  heard  you  called  de  Rathery,"  said  he  to 
Benjamin  :  "  I  was  acquainted,  or  rather  I  have  seen, 
for  one  does  not  make  the  acquaintance  of  such  people, 
a  Rathery  among  the  king's  hostlers ;  perhaps  he  was  a 
relative  of  yours  ?  " 

My  uncle  pricked  up  his  ears  like  a  horse  struck  with 
a  whip. 

"M.  de  Pont-CasseY'  he  answered,  "the  Ratherj's 
never  made  themselves  servants  of  the  court  under  any 
livery  whatsoever.  The  Ratherys  have  proud  souls, 
Monsieur ;  they  will  not  eat  bread  unless  they  earn  it, 
and  they,  with  a  few  millions  of  others,  pay  the  wages 
of  those  flunkeys  of  all  colors  known  as  courtiers." 

There  was  a  solemn  silence  among  the  company,  and 
each  one  gave  my  uncle  an  approving  look. 

"Monsieur  Minxit,"  he  added,  "a  bit  more  of  that 
hare-pie,  if  you  please ;  it  is  excellent,  arid  I  would 
wager  that  the  hare  of  which  it  was  made  was  not  a 
nobleman." 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  friend  of  M.  dc  Pont-Casse", 
assuming  a  martial  attitude,  "  what  do  you  mean  by 
your  remark  about  a  hare?" 


MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  219 

"That  a  nobleman,"  answered  my  uncle  coldly, 
"  would  not  be  good  in  a  pie ;  that  was  all  that  I 
meant." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "  it  is  understood  of 
course  that  your  discussions  should  not  overstep  the 
limits  of  pleasantry." 

"  Understood,"  said  M.  de  Font-Casse* ;  "  strictly  the 
remarks  of  M.  de  Rathery  are  of  a  nature  to  offend  two 
officers  of  the  king,  who  have  not  the  honor  to  be,  like 
himself,  of  the  plebeians ;  nevertheless,  from  his  red 
coat  and  his  big  sword,  I  at  first  took  him  for  one  of 
ours,  and  I  still  tremble,  like  the  man  who  has  been  on 
the  point  of  taking  a  serpent  for  an  eel,  as  I  think  that 
I  came  near  fraternizing  with  him.  Nothing  but  his 
long  cue  wriggling  over  his  shoulders  undeceived  me." 

" Monsieur  de  Font-Casse*,"  cried  M.  Minxit,  "I  will 
not  allow  "... 

"  Let  him  go  on,  my  good  Monsieur  Minxit,"  said  my 
uncle ;  "  insolence  is  the  weapon  of  those  who  do  not 
know  how  to  handle  the  flexible  switch  of  wit.  For 
my  part,  I  have  no  occasion  to  reproach  myself  regard- 
ing my  conduct  toward  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  for  I  have 
not  as  yet  paid  any  attention  to  him." 

"Very  well,"  said  M.  Minxit. 

The  musketeer,  who  prided  himself  on  being  a  very 
witty  fellow  and  who  knew  that  in  the  combats  of  wit 
as  well  as  in  those  of  the  sword  fortune  is  fickle,  did 
not  become  discouraged. 

"  Monsieur  Rathery,"  he  continued,  "  Monsieur  sur- 
geon Rathery,  do  you  know  that  between  our  two  pro- 
fessions there  is  a  closer  analogy  than  you  think?  I 
would  bet  my  burnt  sorrel  horse  against  your  red  coat 


MT   UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

that  you  have  killed  more  people  this  year  than  I  did 
in  my  last  campaign." 

"  You  would  win,  Monsieur  de  Pont-Casse","  replied 
my  uncle  coldly,  "  for  this  year  I  have  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  lose  a  patient ;  he  died  yesterday  of  a  car- 
buncle." 

"  Bravo,  Benjamin  !  Bravo,  the  people  ! "  cried  M. 
Minxit,  unable  longer  to  contain  his  joy.  "  You  see,  my 
nobleman,  that  all  the  people  of  wit  are  not  at  court." 

"  You  yourself  are  the  best  proof  of  that,  Monsieur 
Minxit,"  answered  the  musketeer,  disguising  the  mor- 
tification of  his  defeat  under  a  serene  front. 

Meantime,  all  the  guests,  except  the  two  noblemen, 
presented  their  glasses  to  Benjamin,  and  touched  them 
cordially  against  his  own. 

"  To  the  health  of  Benjamin  Rathery,  the  avenger  of 
the  misunderstood  and  insulted  people ! "  cried  M. 
Minxit. 

The  dinner  was  prolonged  far  into  the  evening.  My 
uncle  noticed  that  Mademoiselle  Minxit  had  disap- 
peared some  time  after  M.  de  Pont  Cass£ ;  but  he  was 
too  much  preoccupied  with  the  praises  showered  upon 
him  to  pay  any  attention  to  his  fiancee.  Toward  ten 
o'clock  he  took  leave  of  M.  Minxit.  The  latter  es- 
corted him  to  the  limits  of  the  village,  and  made  him 
promise  that  the  marriage  should  take  place  within  a 
week.  As  Benjamin  arrived  at  a  point  opposite  the 
Trucy  mill,  a  sound  of  conversation  reached  his  ears, 
and  he  thought  he  distinguished  the  voice  of  Arabelle 
and  that  of  her  illustrious  adorer. 

Benjamin,  out  of  regard  for  Mile.  Minxit,  did  not 
wish  to  surprise  her  at  that  hour  on  a  country  road 


MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  221 

with  a  musketeer.  He  hid  beneath  the  branches  of  a 
large  walnut-tree,  and  waited  for  the  two  lovers  to  pass 
before  continuing  on  his  way.  He  doubtless  did  not 
intend  at  all  to  steal  Arabelle's  little  secrets,  but  the 
wind  brought  them  to  him,  and,  in  spite  of  himself,  he 
had  to  receive  the  confidence. 

"  I  know  a  way,"  said  M.  de  Pont-Casse*,  "  of  making 
him  pack  off :  I  will  send  him  a  challenge." 

"  I  know  him,"  answered  Arabelle  ;  "  he  is  a  man  of 
ungovernable  pride,  and,  though  he  were  sure  of  being 
killed  on  the  spotvhe  would  accept." 

"  So  much  the  better !  In  that  way  I  shall  rid  you 
of  him  forever." 

"  Yes,  but  in  the  first  place  I  do  not  want  to  be  an 
accomplice  in  a  murder ;  and  in  the  second  place  my 
father  loves  this  man  more  perhaps  than  he  loves  me, 
his  only  daughter ;  I  will  never  consent  that  you  shall 
kill  my  father's  best  friend." 

"You  are  charming,  Arabelle,  with  your  scruples; 
I  have  killed  more  than  one  for  a  word  that  rang  badly 
in  my  ear,  and  this  plebeian,  whose  wit  is  ferocious,  has 
taken  a  cruel  revenge  upon  me ;  I  should  not  like 
everybody  at  court  to  know  what  was  said  to-night  at 
your  father's  table.  Nevertheless,  not  to  go  counter  to 
your  wishes,  I  will  content  myself  Avith  crippling  him. 
If,  for  instance,  I  should  cut  the  cord  of  his  kneepan, 
that  would  be  a  disqualification  sufficient  to  justify  you 
in  refusing  him  your  hand." 

"But  suppose  you,  Hector,  should  fall  yourself?" 
said  Mile.  Minxit  in  her  tenderest  voice. 

"  I  who  have  killed  the  finest  swordsmen  of  the 
army, —  the  brave  Bellerive,  the  terrible  Desrivieres, 


222  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

the  formidable  Ch&teaufort, —  I  fall  by  a  surgeon's 
rapier !  But  you  insult  me,  my  beautiful  Arabelle, 
when  you  give  voice  to  such  a  doubt.  Do  you  not 
know,  then,  that  I  am  as  sure  of  my  sword  as  you  of 
your  needle?  Designate  yourself  the  spot  where  you 
would  like  me  to  strike  him,  and  I  shall  be  delighted  to 
serve  you  with  this  bit  of  gallantry." 

The  voices  were  lost  in  the  distance;  my  uncle  left 
his  hiding-place,  and  tranquilly  resumed  his  journey  to 
Clainecy,  considering  what  course  he  should  take. 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

WHAT    MY    UNCLE    SAID    TO    HIMSELF    REGARDING    DUELING. 

"  M.  DE  PCXNT-CASSE  wishes  to  cripple  me ;  he  has 
promised  Mile.  Minxit  that  he  will  do  so,  and  a  knight 
of  the  musketeers  is  not  a  man  to  fail  in  his  word. 

"  Let  me  see :  what  shall  I  do  in  this  matter  ?  Must 
I  allow  myself  to  be  crippled  by  M.  de  Pont-Cassd  with 
the  docility  of  a  dog  under  the  scalpel,  or  shall  I  decline 
the  honor  that  he  condescends  to  do  me?  It  is  for 
M.  de  Pont-Casse"s  interest  that  I  should  go  upon 
crutches ;  that  I  know ;  but  I  do  not  exactly  see  why 
I  should  give  him  that  pleasure.  I  hold  very  little  to 
Mile.  Minxit,  although  she  is  decorated  with  a  dowry 
of  one  hundred  thousand  francs ;  but  I  hold  very  much 
to  the  symmetry  of  my  person,  and  I  flatter  myself  that 
I  am  sufficiently  good-looking  to  keep  this  pretension 
from  seeming  ridiculous.  You  say,  a  man  challenged 
to  a  duel  must  fight;  but  where  do  you  find  that,  if 
you  please?  Is  it  in  the  Pandects,  in  Charlemagne's 
Capitularies,  in  the  commandments  of  God,  or  in  those 
of  the  Church?  And  in  the  first  place,  M.  de  Poiit- 
Cassd,  between  you  and  me  is  the  match  really  equal  ? 
You  are  a  musketeer  and  I  am  a  doctor ;  you  are  an 
artist  in  the  matter  of  fencing,  and  I  scarcely  know  how 
to  handle  anything  but  the  bistoury  or  the  lancet ;  you, 
it  seems,  feel  no  more  scruple  in  depriving  a  man  of  his 
limb  than  in  tearing  a  wing  from  a  fly,  whereas  I  have 
a  horror  of  blood,  and  especially  of  arterial  blood. 


?24  MY  TJNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

Would  it  not  be  as  ridiculous  on  my  part  to  accept 
your  challenge  as  if  I  were  to  consent  to  walk  a  tight 
rope  upon  the  challenge  of  a  rope-walker,  or  to  cross  an 
arm  of  the  sea  upon  the  defiance  of  a  professor  of  swim- 
ming? And  even  though  the  chances  were  equal  be- 
tween us,  when  one  concludes  a  treaty  he  must  hope  to 
gain  something  thereby;  now,  if  I  kill  you,  what  shall 
I  gain  ?  And  if  I  am  killed  by  you,  then  what  shall  I 
gain?  You  see,  in  either  case  I  should  make  a  dupe's 
bargain.  You  repeat  that  every  man  challenged  to  a 
duel  must  fight.  What !  if  a  murderer  of  the  highway 
should  stop  me  at  the  corner  of  a  wood,  I  should  feel 
no  scruple  in  escaping  from  him  with  the  aid  of  my 
good  legs,  but,  when  a  murderer  of  the  drawing-room 
places  a  challenge  under  my  nose,  I  must  feel  myself 
obliged  to  throw  myself  upon  the  point  of  his  sword  ? 

"According  to  you,  when  an  individual  whom  you 
know  only  from  accidentally  having  stepped  on  his  toe, 
writes  to  you  :  '  Monsieur,  be  present  at  such  an  hour, 
at  such  a  spot,  in  order  that  I  may  have  the  satisfaction 
of  killing  you,  in  reparation  of  the  insult  which  you 
have  offered  me,'  one  must  submit  to  the  orders  of  this 
person,  and  furthermore  take  good  care  not  to  keep 
him  waiting.  Strange  thing !  there  are  men  who  would 
not  risk  a  thousand  francs  to  save  their  friend's  honor 
or  their  father's  life,  and  who  risk  their  own  life  in  a 
duel  on  account  of  an  equivocal  word  or  a  squinting 
glance.  But  then,  what  is  life  ?  It  is,  then,  no  longer 
a  blessing  without  which  all  others  are  of  little  conse- 
quence ?  It  is,  then,  a  rag  to  be  thrown  to  the  passing 
rag-picker,  or  a  piece  of  worn-out  money  to  be  aban- 
doned to  the  first  blind  man  that  sings  beneath  your 


MY    UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  225 

window?  They  require  that  I  shall  stake  my  life 
against  that  of  M.  de  Font-Casse*  in  a  game  of  swords, 
whereas,  if  I  should  play  a  game  of  cards  for  a  hundred 
francs,  I  should  be  a  man  ruined  in  reputation,  and  the 
poorest  cobbler  among  them  all  would  not  have  me  for 
a  son-in-law.  According  to  them,  I  should  be  more 
prodigal  of  my  life  than  of  my  money.  And  must  I, 
who  pride  myself  on  being  a  philosopher,  regulate  my 
conduct  by  the  opinions  of  such  casuists? 

"  In  fact,  what  is  this  public  which  assumes  to  judge 
our  actions?  Grocers  who  sell  with  false  weights, 
clothiers  who  give  false  measure,  tailors  who  dress 
their  brats  at  the  expense  of  their  customers,  men  of 
property  who  live  on  usury,  mothers  of  families  who 
have  lovers,  and,  in  short,  a  heap  of  crickets  and  grass- 
hoppers who  know  not  what  they  sing,  ninnies  who 
say  yes  and  no  without  knowing  why,  an  areopagus  of 
imbeciles  incapable  of  giving  reasons  for  their  conclu- 
sions. I  should  be  in  pretty  business,  I,  a  doctor,  if  I 
should  decide,  because  these  boobies  believe  that  Saint 
Hubert  cures  of  the  rabies,  to  send  a  patient  suffering 
with  hydrophobia  to  Ardennes  to  kneel  at  the  shrine  of 
that  great  saint.  Choose  those  among  them  who  pride 
themselves  on  being  sages,  and  you  will  see  how  con- 
sistent they  are  with  themselves.  Their  philosophers 
utter  loud  cries  when  one  speaks  to  them  of  those  poor 
women  of  Malabar  who  throw  themselves,  alive  and 
decked  in  all  their  finery,  on  the  funeral-pile  of  their 
husband;  and  when  two  men  cut  each  other's  throats 
for  a  straw,  they  award  thorn  a  crown  for  intrepidity. 

"  You  say  that  I  am  a  coward  when  I  have  the  good 
sense  to  decline  a  challenge  ;  but  what  is  cowardice, 


226  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

then,  in  your  opinion  ?  If  cowardice  consists  in  recoil- 
ing from  useless  danger,  where  will  you  find  a  coura- 
geous man?  Who  of  you,  when  his  roof  is  cracking 
and  flaming  above  his  head,  remains  calmly  dreaming  in 
his  bed?  Who,  when  he  is  seriously  sick,  does  not  call 
the  doctor  to  his  aid?  Who,  finally,  when  he  falls  into  a 
river,  does  not  clutch  at  the  bushes  on  the  banks  ?  Once 
more,  what  is  this  public  ?  A  coward  that  preaches 
temerity.  Suppose  that  M.  de  Pont-Casse*  were  to  chal- 
lenge, not  me,  Benjamin  Rathery,  but  the  public  to 
fight  a  duel,  how  many  out  of  the  whole  crowd  would 
dare  to  accept  this  defiance  ? 

"  And  besides,  has  a  philosopher  any  other  public  to 
consider  than  the  men  who  think  and  reason?  Now,  in 
the  eyes  of  such  people  is  not  the  duel  the  most  absurd 
as  well  as  the  most  barbarous  of  prejudices?  What 
is  proved  by  the  logic  that  is  learned  in  an  armory  ? 
A  well-delivered  sword  thrust  is  a  magnificent  argu- 
ment, is  it  not?  Parry  tierce,  parry  quarte,  you  can 
now  demonstrate  anything  you  like.  It  is  a  great  pity, 
indeed,  that,  when  the  pope  excommunicated  as  hereti- 
cal the  revolution  of  the  earth  around  the  sun,  Galileo 
did  not  think  of  summoning  His  Holiness  to  a  duel  to 
prove  that  this  revolution  was  a  fact. 

"In  the  Middle  Ages  the  duel  had  at  least  a  reason; 
it  was  the  consequence  of  a  religious  idea.  Our  grand- 
parents thought  God  too  just  to  allow  an  innocent  man 
to  fall  under  the  blows  of  a  guilty  man,  and  the  issue  of 
the  combat  was  regarded  as  a  decree  from  on  high. 
But  with  us,  who  are,  thank  Heaven,  well  recovered 
from  those  mad  ideas,  and  who  believe  in  the  temporal 
justice  of  God  only  to  such  extent  as  we  like,  how  can 
the  duel  be  justified  and  of  what  use  is  it? 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  227 

"You  fear  that  they  will  accuse  you  of  lacking  in 
courage  if  you  decline  a  challenge  ;  but  those  wretches 
who  make  murder  a  profession  and  defy  you  because 
they  feel  sure  of  killing  you,  what,  then,  do  you  think 
of  their  courage  ?  What  do  you  think  of  the  courage 
of  the  butcher  who  kills  a  sheep  with  its  feet  bound,  or 
that  of  the  huntsman  who  fires  pitilessly  at  a  hare  in 
its  form  or  at  a  bird  singing  on  its  branch.  I  have 
known  several  of  these  people  who, had  not  pluck 
enough  to  have  a  tooth  pulled  ;  and  among  the  number 
how  many  are  there  who  would  dare  to  obey  their  con- 
science against  the  will  of  the  man  upon  whom  they 
are  dependent?  I  can  understand  that  the  cannibals 
dwelling  in  the  islands  of  the  new  world  should  kill 
men  of  their  own  color  in  order  to  roast  them,  and, 
after  they  have  been  well  cooked,  to  eat  them  ;  but 
with  what  sauce  will  you,  a  duelist,  eat  the  body  of 
the  man  you  challenge,  after  you  have  killed  him? 
You  are  more  guilty  than  the  assassin  whom  justice 
condemns  to  die  upon  the  scaffold;  he  at  least  was 
pushed  to  murder  by  poverty, —  a  praiseworthy  senti- 
ment perhaps  in  its  origin,  however  deplorable  in  its 
results.  But  what  is  it  that  puts  the  sword  in  your 
hand?  Is  it  vanity,  or  an  appetite  for  blood,  or  curi- 
osity to  see  how  a  man  writhes  in  the  convulsions  of 
the  death-agony?  Do  you  picture  to  yourself  a  wife 
throwing  herself,  half-crazed  with  grief,  across  the 
body  of  her  husband,  children  filling  the  widowed 
house,  draped  with  black,  with  their  lamentations,  a 
mother  praying  God  to  receive  her  in  the  place  of 
her  son  in  his  coffin?  And  it  is  you  who,  moved  by 
a  tiger's  self-love,  have  caused  all  these  miseries  I  You 


228  MY    UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

wish  to  kill  us  if  we  do  not  give  you  the  title  of  a  man 
of  honor !  But  you  are  not  worthy  of  the  name  of 
man  :  you  are  only  a  brute  thirsting  for  blood,  only  a 
viper  that  bites  for  the  pleasure  of  killing  without 
profiting  by  the  evil  that  it  does ;  and  even  the  viper 
respects  itself  in  its  fellows.  When  your  adversary 
has  fallen,  you  kneel  in  the  mud  mixed  with  his  blood, 
you  try  to  stanch  the  wounds  you  have  made,  you  aid 
him  as  if  you  were  his  best  friend ;  but  then,  why  did 
you  kill  him,  wretch  ?  A  great  deal  society  cares  for 
your  remorse  !  Will  your  tears  replace  the  blood  that 
you  have  shed?  You,  fashionable  assassin,  you,  re- 
spectable murderer,  you  find  men  to  take  your  hand, 
mothers  of  families  to  invite  you  to  their  parties; 
those  women  who  faint  at  the  sight  of  the  executioner 
dare  to  press  their  lips  against  yours,  and  suffer  you  to 
rest  your  head  upon  their  bosom.  But  these  men  and 
women  judge  things  only  by  their  names :  they  are 
horrified  at  the  murder  that  is  called  assassination,  and 
they  applaud  the  murder  that  is  called  a  duel.  And 
after  all,  how  much  time  have  you  in  which  to  enjoy 
this  applause  which  they  shower  upon  you?  On  high, 
beside  your  name  is  written  homicide.  You  have  on 
your  brow  a  stain  of  clotted  blood  which  the  kisses 
of  your  mistresses  will  not  wipe  out.  You  have  found 
no  judge  on  earth,  but  in  heaven  a  judge  awaits  you  who 
will  not  be  taken  in  by  your  tall  talk  about  honor.  As 
for  me,  I  am  a  doctor,  not  to  kill,  but  to  cure,  do  you 
hear,  M.  de  Font-Casse"  ?  If  you  have  too  much  blood 
in  your  veins,  only  with  the  point  of  my  lancet  can  I 
let  it  out  for  you." 

Thus  reasoned  my  uncle  to  himself.     We  shall  soon 
see  how  he  put  his  doctrine  in  practice. 


MT  UNCLE  BENJA3VTTN. 

Night  does  not  always  bring  good  counsel.  My  uncle 
rose  the  next  day,  determined  not  to  cower  before  the 
provocation  of  M.  de  Pcnt-Casse",  and,  in  order  to  end 
the  adventure  as  soon  as  possible,  he  started  that  very 
day  for  Corvol.  Whether  he  had  not  breakfasted,  or 
did  not  perspire  freely,  or  suffered  from  an  unfinished 
digestion  of  the  day  before,  he  felt  an  unusual  melan- 
choly creeping  over  him  in  spite  of  himself.  In  a  very 
pensive  mood,  like  Racine's  Hippolyte,  he  followed  the 
successive  slopes  of  the  mountain  of  Beaumont;  his 
noble  sword,  which  generally  fell  with  rigorous  per- 
pendicularity along  his  thigh-bone  and  threatened  the 
earth  with  its  point,  affecting  now  the  trivial  attitude 
of  a  broche,  seemed  to  conform  to  his  sad  thought ;  and 
his  three-cornered  hat,  which  usually  stood  proud  and 
straight  upon  his  head  with  a  slight  inclination  toward 
the  left  ear,  now  sat  sheepishly  upon  his  neck,  and 
seemed  itself  preoccupied  with  sinister  ideas;  his  stony 
eye  had  softened.  He  contemplated  with  a  sort  of  emo- 
tion the  valley  of  Beuvron  which  stretched  away  stiff 
and  shivering  at  his  feet;  those  large  walnut  trees  in 
mourning,  which,  with  their  dark  branches,  resembled 
a  vast  polyp ;  those  long  poplars  that  had  but  a  few  red 
leaves  left  on  them,  and  on  the  tops  of  which  thick 
clusters  of  ravens  sometimes  balanced  themselves ;  that 
wild  copse  browned  by.  the  frost;  the  dark  river  that 
flowed  between  its  banks  of  snow  toward  the  mill- 
wheels;  the  dungeon  of  La  Postaillerie,  gloomy  and 
vaporous  like  a  column  of  clouds  ;  the  old  feudal  castle 
of  Pressure,  crouching  among  the  brown  reeds  of  its 
moats  and  seeming  to  have  a  fever;  and  the  village 
chimneys  throwing  out  together  their  light  thin  smoke, 


230  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

like  the  breath  of  a  man  who  blows  between  his  fingers. 
The  tic-tac  of  the  mill,  that  friend  with  which  he  had 
conversed  so  often  on  his  way  back  from  Corvol  in  the 
fine  moonlight  nights  of  autumn,  was  full  of  sinister 
notes ;  it  seemed  to  say  in  its  spasmodic  language : 

Porteur  de  rapiere, 
Tu  vas  au  cimetiere. 

To  which  my  uncle  replied : 

Tic-tac  indiscret, 
Je  vais  oil  il  me  plait; 
Si  c'est  au  trepas, 
Ca  n'te  r'garde  pas. 

The  weather  was  gloomy  and  sickly:  huge  white 
clouds,  pushed  by  the  north  wind,  dragged  heavily 
across  the  sky,  like  a  wounded  swan ;  the  snow,  de- 
prived of  its  glitter  by  a  grayish  day,  was  dull  and  dim, 
and  the  horizon  was  closed  in  every  direction  by  a  girdle 
of  fogs  th  it  dragged  along  the  mountains.  It  seemed 
to  ray  uncle  th.it  he  would  never  again  see,  lighted  by 
the  joyous  sun  of  spring  and  adorned  with  its  festoons 
of  verdure,  this  landscape  over  which  winter  now  had 
spread  so  thick  a  veil  of  sadness. 

M.  Minxit  was  absent  when  my  uncle  arrived  at 
Corvol;  he  entered  the  drawing-room.  M.  de  Pont- 
Cass£  was  installed  upon  a  sofa,  by  the  side  of  Arabelle. 
Benjamin,  without  paying  any  attention  to  the  pout  of 
his  fiancte  and  the  provoking  airs  of  the  musketeer, 
threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair,  crossed  his  legs,  and 
laid  his  hat  on  a  chair,  like  a  man  in  no  hurry  to  go. 
When  they  had  talked  for  some  time  about  M.  Minxit's 
health,  the  probabilities  of  a  thaw,  and  the  grippe,  Ara- 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  281 

belle  became  silent,  and  my  uncle  could  get  nothing 
more  out  of  her  beyond  a  few  sharp  and  shrill  mono- 
syllables, like  the  notes  which  an  apprentice  musician 
elicits  with  great  difficulty  and  at  rare  intervals  from 
his  clarinette.  M.  de  Font-Casse*  walked  up  and  down 
the  drawing-room,  twirling  his  moustache  and  sounding 
his  big  spurs  on  the  floor ;  he  seemed  to  be  studying  to 
himself  the  best  way  of  picking  a  quarrel  with  my 
uncle. 

Benjamin  had  divined  his  intentions,  but  he  had  the 
air  of  paying  no  attention  to  him,  and  took  up  a  book 
that  was  lying  on  a  sofa.  At  first  he  contented  himself 
with  turning  over  the  leaves,  watching  M.  de  Pont- 
Casse'  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye ;  but,  as  it  was  a 
medical  work,  he  soon  became  absorbed  in  its  interesting 
contents  and  forgot  the  musketeer.  The  latter  decided 
to  bring  things  to  a  crisis '  he  halted  before  my  uncle, 
and,  surveying  him  from  head  to  foot,  said  to  him : 

"  Do  you  know,  Monsieur,  that  your  visits  here  are 
very  long?" 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  answered  my  uncle,  "  that  you 
were  here  when  I  came." 

"  And  also  very  frequent,"  added  the  musketeer. 

"  I  assure  you,  Monsieur,"  replied  my  uncle,  "  that 
they  would  be  much  less  frequent  if  I  expected  always 
to  find  you  here." 

"  If  you.  come  here  on  Mile.  Minxit's  account,"  con- 
tinued the  musketeer,  "she  begs  you  by  my  lips  to  rid 
her  of  your  long  person." 

"  If  Mile.  Minxit,  who  is  not  a  musketeer,  had  any 
orders  to  give  me,  she  would  give  them  more  politely : 
at  any  rate,  Monsieur,  you  will  allow  me  to  wait  before 


232  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

retiring  until  she  has  explained  herself  on  this  subject 
and  until  I  have  interviewed  M.  Minxit." 

And  my  uncle  went  on  with  his  chapter. 

The  officer  went  up  and  down  the  drawing-room  a 
few  times  nio're,  and  then,  again  placing  himself  oppo- 
site my  uncle,  he  said  to  him  : 

"I  pray  you,  Monsieur,  to  interrupt  your  reading  for 
a  moment,  as  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

"  Since  it  is  but  a  word,"  said  my  uncle,  turning 
down  the  leaf  that  he  was  reading,  "  I  can  easily  waste 
a  moment  in  listening  to  you." 

M.  de  Pont-Cass6  was  exasperated  at  Benjamin's 
sang-froid. 

"  I  declare  to  you,  Monsieur  Rathery,"  said  he,  "  that, 
if  you  do  not  go  out  on  the  instant  through  the  door,  I 
will  throw  you  through  the  window." 

"  Really  !  "  said  my  uncle.  "  Well,  I,  Monsieur,  will 
be  more  polite  than  you;  I  shall  throw  you  through 
the  door." 

And  taking  the  officer  by  the  middle  of  the  body,  he 
carried  him  to  the  head  of  the  steps  and  locked  the  door 
behind  him. 

As  Mile.  Minxit  was  trembling,  my  uncle  said  to 
her: 

"  Do  not  be  too  much  afraid  of  me  ;  the  act  of  vio- 
lence which  I  have  permitted  myself  toward  this  man 
was  superabundantly  justified  by  a  long  series  of  in- 
sults. And  besides,"  he  added,  bitterly,  "I  shall  not 
embarrass  you  long  with  my  long  person  ;  I  am  not 
one  of  those  dowry-marryers  who  take  a  woman  from  the 
arm  of  the  man  she  loves  and  fasten  her  brutally  to  the 
foot  of  their  bed.  Every  young  girl  has  received  from 


!Cr  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  283 

heaven  her  treasure  of  love  :  it  is  just  that  she  should 
choose  the  man  with  whom  it  pleases  her  to  share  it ; 
no  one  has  the  right  to  pour  the  white  pearls  of  her 
youth  into  the  street  and  trample  them  under  foot. 
God  forbid  that  a  base  greed  for  money  should  lead  me 
to  commit  a  bad  action !  So  far  I  have  lived  poor ;  I 
know  the  joys  of  poverty,  and  I  am  ignorant  of  the 
miseries  of  wealth ;  in  exchanging  my  mad  and  laugh- 
ing indigence  for  a  cross  and  snarling  opulence,  per- 
haps I  should  make  a  bad  bargain ;  at  any  rate,  I 
should  not  like  this  opulence  to  come  to  me  with  a 
woman  who  detested  me.  I  beg  you,  then,  to  tell  me, 
in  all  the  sincerity  of  your  soul,  whether  you  love  M. 
de  Pont-Casse" ;  I  need  your  reply  in  order  to  determine 
my  conduct  toward  you  and  your  father." 

Mile.  Minxit,  affected  by  Benjamin's  frankness,  an- 
swered : 

"  If  I  had  known  you  before  M.  de  Font-Casse*,  per- 
haps you  would  now  be  the  object  of  my  love." 

"Mademoiselle,"  interrupted  my  uncle,  "it  is  not 
politeness,  but  sincerity  that  I  ask  of  you;  tell  me 
frankly  whether  you  think  that  you  would  be  happier 
with  M.  de  Pont-Casse  than  with  me." 

"What  shall  I  say,  Monsieur  Rathery?"  answered 
Arabelle ;  "  a  woman  is  not  always  happy  with  the  man 
she  loves,  but  she  is  always  unhappy  with  the  man  she 
does  not  love." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mademoiselle ;  now  I  know  what  I 
have  to  do.  Will  you  kindly  order  some  breakfast  for 
me  ?  The  stomach  is  an  egoist  which  has  little  sym- 
pathy with  the  tribulations  of  the  heart." 

My  uncle  breakfasted  as  Alexander  or  Csesar  prob- 


234  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIK. 

ably  breakfasted  on  the  eve  of  battle.  He  did  not  want 
to  await  M.  Minxit's  return  ;  he  did  not  feel  the  courage 
to  face  his  grieved  expression  when  he  should  learn 
that  he,  Benjamin,  whom  he  treated  almost  as  a  son, 
had  abandoned  the  design  of  becoming  his  son-in-law. 
He  preferred  to  inform  him  by  letter  of  his  heroic  de- 
termination. 

At  some  distance  from  the  town  he  saw  the  friend  of 
M.  de  Pont-Cass£  walking  majestically  up  and  down 
the  road.  The  musketeer  advanced  to  meet  him,  and 
said  to  him : 

"Monsieur,  you  keep  those  who' have  a  reparation  to 
ask  of  you  waiting  a  very  long  time." 

"  I  was  eating  breakfast,"  answered  my  uncle. 

"  I  have  to  hand  you,  in  behalf  of  M.  de  Pont-Casse", 
a  letter  to  which  he  has  charged  me  to  bring  back  a 
reply." 

"  Let  us  see,  then,  what  this  estimable  nobleman  has 
to  say  to  me :  fr  Monsieur,  in  view  of  the  enormity  of 
the  outrage  which  you  have  inflicted  upon  me '  .  .  .  — 
What  outrage  !  I  have  carried  him  from  a  drawing-room 
to  the  steps  ;  I  wish  some  one  would  thus  outrage  me  by 
carrying  me  to  Clamecy. .  . . — '  I  consent  to  cross  swords 
with  you.'  —  The  grand  soul !  .  .  .  What !  he  conde- 
scends to  grant  me  the  favor  of  being  crippled  by  him  ! 
If  that  is  not  generosity,  then  I  am  mistaken  !  —  'I  hope 
that  you  will  show  yourself  worthy  of  the  honor  which 
I  do  you,  by  accepting  it.' — Why,  of  course  !  it  would 
be  base  ingratitude  on  my  part  to  refuse.  You  may  say 
to  jour  friend  that,  if  he  kills  me  like  the  brave  Desri- 
vieres,  the  intrepid  Bellerive,  etc.,  etc.,  I  wish  them  to 
write  upon  my  tombstone  in  golden  letters :  '  Here 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  235 

lies  Benjamin  Rathery,  killed  in  a  duel  by  a  nobleman.' 
— '  Postscript.' —  What !  your  friend's  note  lias  a  post- 
script ?  —  'I  will  await  you  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock  in 
the  morning  at  the  place  known  as  Chaume-des-Ferti- 
aux.'  —  At  the  place  known  as  Chaume-des-Fertiaux ! 
Upon  my  honor,  a  process-server  could  not  have  drawn 
it  up  better.  But  Chaume-des-Fertiaux  is  a  good  league 
from  Clamecy ;  I,  who  have  no  burnt  sorrel  horse,  have 
not  time  to  go  so  far  to  fight.  If  your  friend  will  con- 
descend to  go  to  the  place  known  as  Croix-des-Miche- 
lins,  I  shall  have  the  honor  to  await  him  there." 
"And  where  is  this  Croix-des-Michelins?" 
"  On  the  Corvol  road,  at  the  height  of  the  faubourg 
of  Beuvron.  Your  friend  must  be  very  pessimistic  if 
he  does  not  like  that  spot ;  from  there  one  may  enjoy  a 
panorama  worthy  of  a  king ;  before  him  he  will  see  the 
hills  of  Sembert  with  their  terraces  loaded  with  vines, 
and  their  big  bald  craniums  with  the  forest  of  Frace  on 
their  necks.  At  another  season  of  the  year  the  view 
would  be  still  finer,  but  I  cannot  revive  the  springtime 
with  a  breath.  At  their  feet  the  town,  with  its  thou- 
sand wavy  plumes  of  smoke,  presses  between  its  two 
rivers  and  climbs  the  arid  slopes  of  Crot-Pin9on  like 
a  man  pursued.  If  your  friend  has  any  talent  for  draw- 
ing, he  will  be  able  to  enrich  his  album  from  this  point 
of  view.  Between  its  great  gables,  which,  covered  with 
dark  moss,  resemble  pieces  of  crimson  velvet,  rises  the 
tower  of  Saint  Martin,  invested  with  its  turrets  and 
decorated  with  its  jewels  of  stone.  This  tower  in  itself 
alone  is  worth  a  cathedral;  by  its  side  extends  the  old 
basilica,  which  throws  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  with 
admirable  boldness,  its  great  arch-shaped  counter-forts. 


286  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

Your  friend  cannot  help  comparing  it  to  a  gigantic 
spider  resting  on  its  long  claws.  Toward  the  south 
run,  like  a  succession  of  sombre  clouds,  the  bluish 
mountains  of  Morvan;  then  "... 

"Oh,  enough  of  banter,  if  you  please!  I  did  not 
come  here  for  you  to  show  me  the  magic  lantern.  To- 
morrow then,  at  Croix-des-Michelins." 

"  To-morrow  ?  One  moment,  the  affair  is  not  so 
pressing  that  it  cannot  be  postponed.  To-morrow  I  am 
going  to  Dornecy  to  taste  a  cask  of  old  wine  which 
Page  proposes  to  buy ;  he  relies  on  my  judgment  as  to 
quality  and  price,  and  you  must  see  that  I  cannot,  for 
the  sake  of  your  friend's  fine  eyes,  fail  in  the  duties 
that  friendship  imposes  on  me ;  day  after  to-morrow  I 
breakfast  in  town ;  I  cannot,  in  decency,  give  the 
preference  to  a  duel  over  a  breakfast;  Thursday  I  am 
to  tap  a  patient  of  mine,  who  has  the  drops}7" ;  as  your 
friend  wishes  to  cripple  me,  it  would  be  impossible  for 
me  to  perform  the  operation  afterward,  and  Doctor 
Arnout  would  not  do  it  well;  for  Friday  .  .  .  yes,  that's 
a  fast  day ;  I  believe  I  have  no  engagement  for  that 
day,  and  I  see  nothing  to  prevent  me  from  playing  your 
friend's  game." 

"  We  are  obliged  to  comply  with  your  desires ;  at 
least,  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to  bring  a  second  with 
you,  in  order  to  save  me  from  playing  the  tiresome 
rdle  of  spectator." 

"Why  not?  I  know  that  you  are  a  pair  of  friends, 
you  and  M.  de  Pont-Casse* :  I  should  be  sorry  to  sepa- 
rate you.  I  will  bring  my  barber,  if  he  has  time,  and  if 
that  suits  you." 

"  Insolent  fellow !  "  said  the  musketeer. 


MY  TJNCLE  BENJAMIN.  237 

"  This  barber,"  answered  my  uncle,  "  is  n©t  a  man  to 
be  despised :  he  has  a  rapier  long  enough  to  spit  four 
musketeers  upon,  and  moreover,  if  you  prefer  me  to 
him,  I  will  willingly  take  his  place." 

"  I  take  note  of  your  words,"  said  the  musketeer. 

My  uncle,  as  soon  as  he  had  risen,  went  in  search  of 
Machecourt's  inkstand.  He  began  to  compose  in  his 
finest  style  and  his  clearest  penmanship  a  magnificent" 
epistle  to  M.  Minxit,  in  which  he  explained  to  him  why 
he  could  not  become  his  son-in-law.  My  grandfather, 
who  was  given  an  opportunity  of  reading  it,  has  told 
me  that  it  would  make  a  jailer  weep.  If  the  exclama- 
tion point  had  not  then  existed,  my  uncle  certainly 
would  have  invented  it.  The  letter  had  been  in  the 
post-office  scarcely  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  M. 
Minxit  in  person  arrived  at  my  grandmother's,  accom, 
panied  by  the  sergeant,  who  was  himself  accompanied 
by  two  masks,  two  foils,  a-nd  his  respectable  poodle. 

Benjamin  was  just  then  breakfasting  with  Mache- 
court  off  a  herring  and  the  patrimonial  white  wine  of 
Choulot. 

"Welcome,  Monsieur  Minxit!"  cried  Benjamin; 
"wouldn't  you  like  a  bit  of  this  fish?" 

"  Fie !  do  you  take  me  for  a  thrasher  ?  " 

"  And  you,  sergeant  ?  " 

"  I  have  given  up  this  sort  of  thing  since  I  had  the 
honor  to  join  the  band." 

"But  your  dog,  what  would  he  think  of  this  head?" 

"  I  thank  you  for  him,  but  I  believe  he  has  little  taste 
for  sea-fish." 

"It  is  true  that  a  herring  is  not  as  good  as  a  pike 
cooked  in  court-bouillon  "  . 


238  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  And  how  about  a  carp  stewed  in  Burgundy  wine  ?  " 
interrupted  M.  Minxit. 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  Benjamin;  "3*011 
might  even  say  a  jugged  hare  prepared  by  your  own 
hand ;  but  at  any  rate  herring  is  excellent  when  you 
haven't  anything  else.  By  the  way,  I  mailed  a  letter 
to  you  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago;  you  probably  have 
not  received  it  yet,  Monsieur  Minxit? 

"No,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "but  I  come  to  bring  you  the 
answer.  You  pretend  that  Arabelle  does  not  love  you, 
and  because  of  that  you  will  not  marry  her." 

"  M.  Rathery  is  right/"  said  the  sergeant.  "  I  had  a 
bed-fellow  who  did  not  like  me,  and  whose  dislike  I 
cordially  returned ;  our  household  was  a  regular  police- 
station.  When  one  wanted  turnips  in  the  soup,  the 
other  put  in  carrots;  at  the  canteen,  if  I  asked  for 
currant  wine,  1  e  sent  for  gin.  We  quarrelled  to  see 
which  should  -have  the  best  place  for  his  gun.  If  he 
had  a  kick  to  give,  he  bestowed  it  on  my  poodle,  and 
when  he  was  bitten  by  a  flea,  he  would  have  it  that  it 
came  from  this  poor  Azor.  Would  you  believe  it,  we 
once  fought  in  the  moonlight  because  he  wanted  to 
sleep  on  the  right  side  of  the  bed,  and  I  insisted  that 
he  should  take  the  left.  To  get  rid  of  him  I  was 
obliged  to  send  him  to  the  hospital." 

"  You  did  quite  right,  sergeant,"  said  my  uncle : 
"  when  people  do  not  know  how  to  live  in  this  world, 
we  sentence  them  to  the  other  forever." 

"There  is  some  truth  in  what  the  sergeant  says," 
said  M.  Minxit.  "  To  be  loved  is  more  than  to  be  rich, 
for  it  is  to  be  happy ;  consequently,  I  do  not  disapprove 
your  scruples,  my  dear  Benjamin.  All  that  I  ask  of 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  239 

you  is  that  you  continue,  as  in  the  past,  to  come  to 
Corvol.  That  you  do  not  wish  to  be  my  son-in-law  is 
not  a  reason  why  you  should  cease  to  be  my  friend. 
You  will  no  longer  be  obliged  to  play  the  languishing 
lover  to  Arabelle,  to  go  after  water  to  sprinkle  her 
flowers,  or  to  go  into  ecstasies  over  the  ruffles  which 
she  embroiders  for  me  and  over  the  superiority  of  her 
cream -cheeses.  We  will  breakfast,  we  will  dine,  we 
will  philosophize,  we  will  laugh,  that  is  as  good  a 
pastime  as  any  other.  You  are  fond  of  truffles,  I  will 
perfume  my  whole  pantry  with  them ;  you  have  a  predi- 
lection for  volnay, —  a  predilection  which  I  do  not 
share, — but  I  shall  always  have  some  in  my  wine-cellar; 
if  you  take  a  notion  to  hunt,  I  will  buy  you  a  double- 
barrelled  gun  and  a  pair  of  hounds.  I  give  Arabelle 
less  than  three  months  to  get  sick  of  lier  nobleman  and 
to  .love  you  madly.  Do  you  accept  or  not?  Answer 
me,  yes  or  no.  You  are  aware  that  I  am  not  fond  of 
fine  phrases." 

"  Well,  yes,  Monsieur  Minxit,"  said  my  uncle. 

"Very  well,  I  expected  nothing  less  from  your  friend- 
ship. And  now  you  are  going  to  fight  a  duel?  " 

"Who  the  devil  told  you  that?"  cried  my  uncle. 
"I  know  that  urines  hide  nothing  from  you;  can  you 
have  consulted  my  urine  without  my  knowledge?" 

"You  are  to  fight  with  M.  de  Pont-Casse*,  you  rogue ; 
you  are  to  meet  him  three  days  hence  at  Croix-des- 
Michelins,  and,  in  case  you  rid  yourself  of  M.  de  Pont- 
Casse",  the  other  musketeer  will  take  his  place :  you  see 
that  I  am  well  informed." 

"  What,  Benjamin  !  "  cried  Machecourt,  turning  paler 
than  his  plate. 


240  >IY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

"What,  wretch!"  added  my  grandmother,  "you  are 
to  fight  a  duel?" 

"  Listen  to  me.  you,  Machecourt,  you,  my  dear  sister, 
and  you  too.  Monsieur  Minxit :  it  is  true  that  I  am  to 
fight  with  M.  de  Pont-Casse*.  My  mind  is  made  up ;  so 
save  yourself  the  representations  which  would  weary  me 
without  causing  me  to  abandon  my  design." 

"I  do  not  come,"  answered  M.  Minxit,  "to  place 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  your  duel ;  I  come,  on  the  con- 
trary, to  furnish  you  a  means  of  coming  out  of  it  vic- 
toriously, and  furthermore  of  making  your  name  famous 
throughout  the  country.  The  sergeant  knows  a  superb 
thrust,  with  which  he  could  disarm  in  an  hour  the  en- 
tire corporation  of  fencing-masters.  As  soon  as  he  has 
drunk  a-glass  ol  white  wine,  he  shall  give  you  your  first 
lesson  j  I  leave  him  with  you  until  Friday,  and  shall 
remain  here  myself  to  watch  you,  lest  you  may  waste 
your  time  in  the  taverns." 

"  But,"  said  my  uncle,  "  I  have  only  to  make  your 
thrust,  and  moreover,  if  your  thrust  is  infallible,  what 
glory  should  I  win  in  triumphing  by  this  means  over 
our  vicomte?  Homer,  in  rendering  Achilles  invulner- 
able, deprived  him  of"  all  the  merit  of  his  valor.  I 
have  reflected:  my  intention  is  not  to  fight  with  the 
sword." 

"What!  you  want  to  fight  with  the  pistol,  imbecile! 
Now,  if  it  were  with  M.  Arthus,  who  is  as  big  as  a 
wardrobe,  that  would  be  all  very  well." 

"  I  fight  neither  with  the  pistol  nor  with  the  sword ; 
I  wish  to  serve  these  bullies  with  a  duel  of  my  own 
making ;  I  reserve  for  you  the  pleasure  of  the  surprise ; 
you  shall  see,  Monsieur  Minxit." 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  241 

"Very  well,"  answered  the  latter,  "but  learn  my 
thrust  all  the  same :  it  is  a  weapon  that  will  not  em- 
barrass you,  and  one  never  knows  what  one  may  need." 

My  uncle's  room  was  in  the  second  story,  over  that 
occupied  by  Machecourt.  So  after  breakfast,  he  shut 
himself  up  in  his  room  with  the  sergeant  and  M.  Minxit 
to  begin  his  fencing-lessons.  But  the  lesson  was  not  of 
long  duration :  at  Benjamin's  first  appeal  Machecourt's 
worm-eaten  floor  gave  way  under  his  feet,  and  he  went 
through  up  to  his  arm-pits. 

The  sergeant,  amazed  at  the  sudden  disappearance  of 
his  pupil,  remained  standing  with  his  left  arm  gently 
curved  on  a  level  with  his  ear  and  his  right  arm  extended 
in  the  attitude  of  a  man  who  is  about  to  make  a  thrust. 
As  for  M.  Minxit,  he  was  seized  with  such  a  desire  to 
laugh  that  he  came  near  suffocating. 

"Where  is  Rathery?"  he  cried.  "What  has  become 
of  Rathery?  Sergeant,  what  have  you  done  with 
Rathery?" 

"  I  see  M-  Rathery 's  head  well  enough,"  answered  the 
sergeant,  "but  devil  take  me  if  I  know  where  his  legs 
are." 

Gaspard  just  then  was  alone  in  his  father's  room  •;  at 
first  he  was  a  little  astonished  at  the  abrupt  arrival  of 
his  uncle's  legs,  which  certainly  he  did  not  expect,  but 
soon  his  surprise  changed  into  mad  shouts  of  laughter, 
which  mingled  with  those  of  M.  Minxit. 

"  Hello,  there,  Gaspard,"  cried  Benjamin,  who  heard 
him. 

"  Hello,  there,  my  dear  uncle,"  answered  Gaspard. 

"  Place  your  father's  leather  arm-chair  under  my  feet, 
I  beg  of  you,  Gaspard." 


242  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"I  have  not  the  right,"  replied  the  scamp;  "my 
mother  has  forbidden  anybody  to  stand  on  it."' 

"Will  you  bring  me  that  arm-chair,  accursed  cross- 
bearer?" 

"  Take  off  your  shoes,  and  I  will  bring  it  to  you." 

"  And  how  do  you  expect  me  to  take  off  my  shoes  ? 
My  feet  are  in  the  first  story,  and  my  hands  are  in 
the  second.'" 

"  Well,  give  me  a-  franc  to  pay  me  for  my  trouble." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  franc  and  a  half,  my  good  Gaspard, 
but  the  arm-chair  at  once,  I  beg  of  you ;  my  arms  will 
soon  separate  from  my  shoulders." 

"  Credit  is  dead,"  said  Gaspard  :  "  give  me  the  franc 
and  a  half  at  once-,  otherwise,  no  arm-chair." 

Fortunately  Machecourt  came  in  at  this  moment ;  he 
gave  Gaspard  a  kick,  and  put  an  end  to  the  suspension 
of  his  brother-in-law.  Benjamin  went  to  finish  his 
fencing-lesson  at  Page's,  and  he  proved  so  apt  a  pupil 
that  in  two  hours'  time  he  was  as  skilful  as  his  teacher. 


CHAPTER  XTX. 

HOW    MY    UNCLE    THRICE    DISARMED    M.    DE    PONT-CASSE. 

THE  dawn,  a  dull  and  grimacing  dawn  of  February, 
had  scarcely  thrown  its  leaden  tints  upon  the  walls  of 
his  room,  when  my  uncle  was  up.  He  dressed  himself 
gropingly,  and  softly  descended  the  stairs,  being  espe- 
cially desirous  of  not  waking  his  sister.  But,  as  he  was 
crossing  the  stair-landing,  he  felt  a  woman's  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  What,  dear  sister ! "  he  cried,  in  a  sort  of  fright, 
"you  are  already  awake?" 

"  Say  rather  that  I  am  not  yet  asleep,  Benjamin.  Be- 
fore you  go,  I  wanted  to  say  farewell  to  you,  perhaps  a 
last  farewell,  Benjamin.  Do  you  imagine  how  I  suffer 
when  I  think  that  you  leave  this  house  full  of  life, 
youth,  and  hope,  and  that  perhaps  you  will  re-enter  it 
borne  on  the  arms  of  your  friends,  and  your  body  pierced 
with  a  sword?  Is  your  mind  firmly  made  up?  Before 
coming  to  a  decision,  did  you  think  of  the  grief  with 
which  your  death  would  fill  this  sad  house  ?  For  you, 
when  your  last  drop  of  blood  has  gone,  all  will  be  over ; 
but  many  months  and  years  will  pass  before  our  grief  is 
exhausted,  and  the  tear-grass  over  your  grave  will  have 
been  long  withered  before  our  tears  cease  to  flow." 

My  uncle  went  away  without  answering,  and  perhaps 
he  was  weeping ;  but  my  grandmother  caught  him  by 
the  skirt  of  his  coat. 

"  Run,  then,  to  your  murderous  rendezvous,  ferocious 


244  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

beast,"  she  cried ;  "  do  not  keep  M.  de  Pont-Casse*  wait- 
ing.  Perhaps  honor  requires  you  to  start  without  kiss- 
ing your  sister ;  but  at  least  take  this  relic  which  cousin 
Guillaumot  has  lent  me ;  perhaps  it  will  preserve  you 
from  the  dangers  into  which  you  are  about  to  throw 
yourself  so  heedlessly." 

My  uncle  thrust  the  relic  into  his  pocket  and  slipped 
away. 

He  ran  to  awaken  M.  Minxit  at  his  tavern.  They 
took  Page  and  Arthus  in  passing,  and  all  went  to  break- 
fast together  in  a  wine-shop  at  the  extremity  of  Beuvron. 
My  uncle,  if  he  was  to  fall,  did  not  wish  to  depart  this 
life  with  an  empty  stomach.  He  said  that  a  soul  which 
reaches  the  tribunal  of  God  between  two  glasses  of  wine 
has  more  courage  and  pleads  his  cause  better  than  a 
poor  soul  full  of  nothing  but  sweetened  water.  The 
sergeant  was  present  at  the  breakfast ;  when  they  were 
at  dessert,  my  uncle  asked  him  to  go  to  Croix-des-Mi- 
chelins  to  carry  a  table,  a  box,  and  two  chairs,  which  he 
needed  for  his  duel,  and  to  build  a  big  fire  there  with 
vine-poles  from  the  neighboring  vineyard ;  then  he  called 
for  coffee. 

M.  de  Pont-Cassd  and  his  friend  were  not  slow  in 
arriving. 

The  sergeant  did  the  honors  of  the  bivouac  to  the 
best  of  his  abilit}'. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  be  good  enough  to  sit  down 
and  warm  yourselves.  M.  Rathery  begs  you  to  excuse 
him  if  he  keeps  you  waiting  a  little,  but  he  is  at  break- 
fast with  his  seconds,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  will  be 
at  your  disposition." 

Benjamin  arrived,  in  fact,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later 


MY    UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  245 

holding  Arthus  and  M.  Minxit  by  the  arm,  and  singing 
with  bare  throat  : 

"  Ma  foi,  c'est  un  triste  soldat 
Que  celui  qui  ne  salt  pas  boire !  " 

My  uncle  saluted  his  two  adversaries  graciously. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  M.  de  Pont-Casse",  haughtily,  "  we 
have  been  waiting  for  you  twenty  minutes." 

"  The  sergeant  must  have  explained  to  you  the  cause 
of  our  delay,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  find  it  legiti- 
mate." 

"  Your  excuse  is  that  you  are  a  plebeian,  and  this  is 
probably  the  first  time  that  you  have  had  a  duel  with  a 
nobleman." 

"What  do  you  expect?  We  plebeians  are  -accus- 
tomed to  take  coffee  after  each  of  our  meals,  and  be- 
cause you  call  yourself  Vicomte  de  Pont-Casse",  that  is 
no  reason  why  we  should  violate  this  custom.  Coffee, 
you  see,  is  beneficent,  it  is  a  tonic,  it  agreeably  stimu- 
lates the  brain,  it  gives  movement  to  the  thought.  If 
you  have  not  taken  coffee  this  morning,  the  weapons 
are  not  equal,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  I  can  con- 
scientiously measure  myself  against  you." 

"  Laugh,  Monsieur,  laugh  while  you  can ;  but  I  warn 
you  that  he  laughs  best  who  laughs  last." 

"  Monsieur,"  rejoined  Benjamin,  "  I  do  not  laugh 
when  I  say  that  coffee  is  a  tonic :  that  is  the  opinion  of 
several  celebrated  doctors,  and  I  myself  give  it  as  a 
stimulant  in  certain  diseases." 

"  Monsieur ! " 

"  And  your  burnt  sorrel  horse  ?  I  am  greatly  aston- 
ished not  to  see  him  here  ;  is  it  possible  that  he  is  indis- 
posed?" 


246  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  second  musketeer,  "  enough  of 
your  wit ;  you  undoubtedly  have  not  forgotten  why  you 
have  come  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  ho !  it  is  you,  number  two  ?  Delighted  to 
renew  my  acquaintance  with  you;  indeed  I  have  not 
forgotten  why  I  come  here,  and  the  proof,"  he  added, 
pointing  to  the  table  on  which  the  box  was  placed,  "  is 
that  I  have  made  preparations  to  receive  you." 

"  And  what  need  have  we  of  this  juggler's  apparatus 
in  order  to  fight  with  the  sword  ?  " 

"But,"  said  my  uncle,  "  I  do  not  fight  with  the  sword." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  M.  de  Pont>Casse",  "  I  am  the  in- 
sulted party ;  I  have  the  choice  of  weapons ;  I  choose 
the  sword." 

"It-is  I,  Monsieur,  who  was  first  insulted;  I  will  not 
yield  my  privilege ;  and  I  choose  chess." 

At  the  same  time  he  opened  the  box  which  the  ser- 
geant had  brought,  and,  having  taken  out  a  chess-board, 
he  invited  the  nobleman  to  take  his  place  at  the  table. 

M.  de  Pont-Cass6  turned  pale  with  anger. 

"  Are  you  trying  to  make  sport  of  me  ?  "  he  cried. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  my  uncle;  "every  duel  is  a  game 
in  which  two  men  stake  their  lives:  why  should  not 
this  game  be  played  as  well  with  chess  as  with  the 
sword?  However,  if  you  doubt  your  strength  at  chess, 
I  am  ready  to  play  you  a  game  of  6carte  or  of  triomphe. 
In  five  points,  if  you  like,  without  a  return  game  or  a 
rubber ;  in  that  way  it  will  be  soon  over." 

"  I  have  come  here,"  said  M.  de  Pont-Casse*,  scarcely 
able  to  contain  himself,  "  not  to  stake  my  life  like  a 
bottle  of  beer,  but  to  defend  it  with  my  sword." 

"  I  understand,"  said  my  uncle ;  "  you  are  of  superior 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  247 

skill  with  the  sword,  and  you  hope  to  have  an  advan- 
tage over  me,  who  never  hold  mine  except  to  put  it  at 
my  side.  Is  that  a  nobleman's  fairness  ?  If  a  mower 
should  propose  to  fight  you  with  the  scythe,  or  a 
thrasher  with  a  flail,  would  you  accept,  I  ask  you?" 

"  You  will  fight  with  the  sword,"  cried  M.  de  Pont- 
Casse*,  beside  himself;  "otherwise,"  he  added,  lifting 
his  riding-whip  .  .  . 

"Otherwise  what?"  said  my  uncle. 

"  Otherwise  I  will  cut  you  across  the  face  with  my 
riding-whip." 

"You  know  how  I  answer  your  threats,"  retorted 
Benjamin.  "No,  Monsieur,  this  duel  shall  not  be 
accomplished  as  you  hope.  If  you  persist  in  your  un- 
fair obstinacy,  I  shall  believe  and  declare  that  you  have 
speculated  on  your  bravo's  skill,  that  you  have  set  a 
trap  for  me,  that  you  have  come  here,  not  to  risk  your 
life  against  mine,  but  to  cripple  me,  do  you  understand, 
M.  de  Pont-Cass£  ?  And  I  shall  hold  you  for  a  coward, 
yes,  for  a  coward,  my  nobleman,  for  a  coward,  yes,  for  a 
coward." 

And  my  uncle's  words  vibrated  between  his  lips  like 
a  rattling  window-pane. 

The  nobleman  could  endure  it  no  longer;  he  drew 
his  sword  and  rushed  upon  Benjamin.  It  would  have 
been  all  up  with  the  latter,  if  the  poodle,  by  throwing 
himself  upon  M.  de  Pont-Casse,  had  not  changed  the 
direction  of  his  sword.  The  sergeant  having  called  off 
his  dog,  my  uncle  cried : 

"  Gentlemen,  I  call  you  to  witness  that,  if  I  accept 
the  combat,  it  is  to  save  this  man  from  committing  a 
murder." 


24S  MY  TTNCLE  BEKJAMIK. 

And,  flashing  his  sword  in  the  air  in  turn,  he  sustained 
the  impetuous  attack  of  his  adversary  without  retiring 
a  step.  The  sergeant,  seeing  no  sign  of  his  thrust, 
stamped  on  the  grass  like  a  war-horse  tied  to  a  tree, 
and  twisted  his  wrist  till  he  nearly  threw  it  out  of  joint, 
to  indicate  to  Benjamin  the  motion  that  he  ought  to 
make  in  order  to  disarm  his  man.  M.  de  Pont-Casse, 
exasperated  at  the  unexpected  resistance  which  he  met, 
had  lost  his  sang-froid  and  with  it  his  murderous  skill. 
He  no  longer  tried  to  parry  the  thrusts  which  his  adver- 
sary might  make  at  him,  but  sought  only  to  pierce  him 
with  his  sword. 

"Monsieur  de  Font-Casse","  said  my  uncle,  "you 
would  have  done  better  to  play  chess :  you  never  parry ; 
I  could  kill  you  at  any  moment." 

"  Kill,  Monsieur,"  said  the  musketeer ;  "  that  is  what 
you  are  here  for." 

"  I  prefer  to  disarm  you,"  said  my  uncle,  and,  quickly 
passing  his  sword  under  that  of  his  adversary,  he  sent  it 
into  the  middle  of  the  hedge. 

"  Well  done !  bravo  ! "  cried  the  sergeant ;  "  I  could 
not  have  sent  it  so  far  myself.  If  you  could  only  take 
lessons  of  me  for  six  months,  you  would  be  the  best 
swordsman  in  France." 

M.  de  Font-Casse*  desired  to  begin  the  combat  again. 
The  seconds,  however,  were  opposed  to  this.  But  my 
uncle  said : 

"  No,  gentlemen,  the  first  time  does  not  count,  and 
there  is  no  game  without  a  return  game.  The  repara- 
tion to  which  Monsieur  is  entitled  must  be  complete." 

The  two  adversaries  put  themselves  on  guard  again ; 
but  at  the  first  thrust  M.  de  Pont-Casse"s  sword  went 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  249 

flying  into  the  road.  As  he  ran  to  pick  it  up,  Benjamin 
said  to  him,  in  his  sardonic  voice : 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  Monsieur  Comte,  for  the  trouble 
that  I  give  you ;  but  it  is  your  own  fault :  if  you  had 
been  willing  to  play  chess,  you  would  not  have  had  to 
disturb  yourself  so  often." 

A  third  time  the  musketeer  returned  to  the  charge. 

"Enough!"  cried  the  seconds;  "you  abuse  M.  Ra- 
thery's  generosity." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  my  uncle ;  "  Monsieur  undoubtedly 
wishes  to  learn  the  thrust:  permit  me  to  give  him 
another  lesson." 

In  fact,  the  lesson  was  not  long  in  coming,  and  M. 
de  Pont-Casse*'s  sword  escaped  from  his  hand  for  the 
third  time. 

"At  least,"  said  my  uncle,  "you  would  have  done 
well  to  bring  a  servant  with  you  to  run  after  your 
sword." 

"  You  are  the  demon  in  person,"  said  the  vicomte  ;  "  I 
would  rather  have  been  killed  by  you  than  treated  so 
ignominiously." 

"  And  you,  my  nobleman,"  said  Benjamin,  turning  to 
the  other  musketeer,  "you  see  that  my  barber  is  not 
here.  Do  you  wish  me  to  fulfil  the  promise  that  I 
made  to  you?" 

"By  no  means,"  said  the  musketeer;  "to  you  the 
honors  of  the  day :  there  is  no  cowardice  in  retiring 
before  you,  since  you  do  not  lift  your  sword  against  the 
conquered.  Although  you  are  not  a  nobleman,  I  hold 
you  as  the  best  swordsman  and  the  most  honorable  man 
that  I  know ;  for  your  adversary  wanted  to  kill  you, 
but  you,  who  had  his  life  in  your  hands,  respected  it. 


250  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

If  I  were  king,  you  should  be  at  least  a  duke  and 
peer.  And  now,  if  you  attach  any  value  to  my  friend- 
ship, I  offer  it  to  you  with  all  my  heart,  and  ask  yours 
in  exchange." 

He  extended  his  hand  to  my  uncle,  who  grasped  it 
cordially  in  his  own.  M.  de  Pont-Cass6  stood  before 
the  fire,  gloomy  and  sullen,  his  brow  charged  with  a 
stormy  cloud.  He  took  his  friend's  arm,  saluted  my 
uncle  freezingly,  and  went  away. 

My  uncle  hastened  to  return  to  his  sister ;  but  the 
report  of  his  victory  had  spread  rapidly  through  the 
faubourg.  At  every  step  he  was  intercepted  \>y  a  self- 
styled  friend  who  came  to  congratulate  him  on  his  fine 
feat  of  arms  and  to  shake  his  arm  clear  to  the  shoulder 
under  pretext  of  grasping  his  hand.  The  urchins,  that 
population  which  each  fresh  event  gathers  in  the  street* 
swarmed  about  him  and  deafened  him  with  their  hur- 
rahs. In  a  few  moments  he  became  the  centre  of  a 
horribly  tumultuous  crowd,  who  tagged  at  his  heels, 
spattered  his  silk  stockings,  and  tumbled  his  three- 
cornered  hat  into  the  mud.  He  was  still  able  to  ex- 
change a  few  words  with  M.  Minxit,  but,  under  pretext 
of  completing  his  triumph,  Cicero,  the  drummer  whom 
you  already  know,  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  the 
crowd  with  his  drum,  and  began  to  beat  the  charge 
vigorously  enough  to  shatter  the  bridge  of  Beuvron; 
Benjamin  even  had  to  give  him  thirty  sous  for  his  din. 
The  only  thing  lacking  to  complete  his  misfortune  was 
an  harangue.  That  is  how  my  uncle  was  rewarded  for 
having  risked  his  life  in  a  duel. 

"  If,  on  the  height  of  Croix-des-Michelins,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "I  had  given  a  few  louis  to  a  wretch  dying 


MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIK.  251 

of  hunger,  all  these  loungers  now  shouting  about  me 
would  let  me  pass  quietly  enough.  My  God !  what, 
then,  is  glory,  and  to  whom  does  it  appeal  ?  This  noise 
that  they  make  around  a  name,  is  it  a  blessing  so  rare 
and  so  precious  that,  to  obtain  it,  one  should  sacrifice 
rest,  happiness,  sweet  affection,  the  finest  years  of  one's 
life,  and  sometimes  the  peace  of  the  world  ?  The  lifted 
finger  that  points  you  out  to  the  public,  upon  whom, 
then,  has  it  not  been  fixed  ?  The  child  whom  they  take 
to  church  to  the  sound  of  pealing  bells,  the  ox  that  they 
lead  through  the  city,  decorated  with  flowers  and  rib- 
bons, the  six-footed  calf,  the  stuffed  boa-constrictor,  the 
monster  pumpkin,  the  acrobat  who  walks  a  wire,  the 
aeronaut  who  makes  an  ascension,  the  juggler  who  swal- 
lows balls,  the  prince  who  passes,  the  bishop  who 
blesses,  the  general  who  returns  from  a  far-off  victory, — 
have  not  all  these  had  their  moment  of  glory?  You 
think  yourself  celebrated,  you  who  have  sown  your 
ideas  in  the  arid  furrows  of  a  book,  who  have  made  men 
out  of  marble  and  passions  out  of  ivory-black  and  white- 
lead  ;  but  you  would  be  much  more  famous  if  you  had 
a  nose  six  inches  long.  As  for  that  glory  which  sur- 
vives us,  it  does  not  belong  to  everybody,  I  admit;  but 
the  difficulty  is  to  enjoy  it.  Find  me  a  banker  who  dis- 
counts immortality,  and  from  to-morrow  I  will  toil  to 
make  myself  immortal." 

My  uncle  wanted  to  have  a  family  dinner  at  his  sis- 
ter's with  M.  Minxit;  but  the  worthy  man,  although 
his  dear  Benjamin  stood  before  him,  safe,  sound,  and 
victorious,  was  sad  and  preoccupied.  What  my  uncle 
had  said  in  the  morning  to  M.  de  Pont-Casse'  came  back 
continually  to  his  mind.  He  said  that  a  voice  rang  in 


252  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

his  ears  summoning  him  to  Corvol.  He  was  seized 
with  a  nervous  agitation  like  that  felt  by  persons  who 
have  drunk  a  strong  cup  of  coffee  when  not  accustomed 
to  it.  He  was  frequently  obliged  to  leave  the  table 
and  take  a  turn  about  the  room.  This  undue  excite- 
ment frightened  Benjamin,  and  he  himself  urged  him. 
to  depart. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ABDUCTION   AND    DEATH   OP   MLLB.   MINXIT. 

MY  uncle,  however,  escorted  M.  Minxit  as  far  as 
Croix-des-Michelins,  and  then  returned  to  go  to  bed. 
He  was  in  that  profound  annihilation  produced  by  the 
first  hours  of  sleep  when  he  was  awakened  by  a  violent 
knock  at  the  outside  door.  This  knock  gave  my  uncle 
a  painful  shock.  He  opened  his  window;  the  street 
was  as  dark  as  a  deep  ditch ;  nevertheless  he  recog- 
nized M.  Minxit,  and  thought  he  perceived  in  his  at- 
titude indications  of  distress.  He  ran  to  open  the 
door;  scarcely  had  he  drawn  the  bolt,  when  the 
worthy  man  threw  himself  into  his  arms  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  Monsieur  Minxit  ?  Come,  speak 
out ;  tears  do  not  end  in  anything ;  certainly  no  mis- 
fortune has  happened  to  you  ?  " 

"  Gone  !  gone !  "  cried  M.  Minxit,  choking  with 
sobs,  "  gone  with  him,  Benjamin ! " 

"  What !  Arabelle  has  gone  with  M.  de  Pont-Casse'  ?  " 
said  my  uncle,  divining  at  once  what  he  meant. 

"  You  were  quite  right  to  warn  me  to  distrust  him ; 
why  did  you  not  kill  him  ?  " 

"  There  is  still  time,"  said  Benjamin ;  "  but  first  we 
must  start  in  pursuit." 

"  And  you  will  accompany  me,  Benjamin ;  for  in  you 
lies  all  my  strength,  all  my  courage." 

"  Accompany  you !     Of  course  I  will;  and  directly. 


254  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

• 

And,  by  the  way,  did  it  occur  to  you  to  supply  yourself 
with  money  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  a  bit  of  cash,  my  friend ;  the  poor  girl 
carried  off  all  the  money  that  there  was  in  my  sec- 
retary." 

"So  much  the  better,"  said  my  uncle ;  "you  can, at 
least  be  sure  that  she  will  want  for  nothing  until  we 
catch  her." 

"  As  soon  as  it  is  light,  I  will  go  to  my  banker  to  get 
some  funds." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  uncle,  "  do  you  think  that  they  will 
amuse  themselves  in  making  love  on  the  greensward  by 
the  roadside  ?  When  it  is  light,  they  will  be  far  from 
here.  You  must  go  at  once  to  awaken  your  banker, 
and  knock  at  his  door  until  he  has  counted  out  a  thou- 
sand francs  for  you.  You  will  have  to  pay  twenty  per 
cent,  instead  of  fifteen,  that  is  all." 

"But  what  road  have  they  taken?  We  must  wait 
for  daylight  in  order  to  make  inquiries." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  my  uncle  ;  "  they  have  taken  the 
Paris  road :  M.  de  Font-Casse*  can  go  only  to  Paris ;  I 
have  it  on  good  authority  that  his  leave  of  absence  ex- 
pires in  a  few  days.  I  am  going  at  once  to  get  a  carriage 
and  two  good  horses ;  you  will  join  me  at  the  Golden 
Lion." 

As  my  uncle  started  to  go  out,  M.  Minxit  said  to 
him: 

"  But  you  have  nothing  on  but  your  shirt." 

"  True,  you  are  right,"  said  Benjamin,  "  I  had  forj 
gotten  that ;  it  was  so  dark  that  I  did  not  notice 
it ;  but  in  five  minutes  I  shall  be  dressed,  and  in 
twenty  minutes  I  shall  be  at  the  Golden  Lion ;  I  will 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  255 

say  good-bye  to  my  dear  sister  when  I  return  from  our 
journey." 

An  hour  later  my  uncle  and  M.  Minxit,  in  a  rickety 
vehicle  drawn  by  two  jades,  were  driving  along  the  ex- 
ecrable cross-road  that  then  led  from  Clamecy  to  Au- 
xerre.  By  daylight  winter  is  tolerable,  but  at  night  it 
is  horrible.  With  the  utmost  diligence  they  could  em- 
ploy, it  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  they 
arrived  at  Courson.  Under  the  porch  of  La  Levrette, 
the  only  tavern  in  the  neighborhood,  a  coffin  was  ex- 
posed, and  a  whole  swarm  of  old  women,  hideous  and 
in  rags,  were  croaking  around  it. 

"I  have  it  from  Gobi,  the  sexton,"  said  one,  "that 
the  young  lady  has  promised  to  give  three  thousand 
francs  to  ba  distributed  among  the  poor  of  the  parish." 

"  We  shall  get  some  of  that,  Mother  Simonne." 

"If  the  young  lady  dies,  as  they  say  she  will,  the 
proprietor  of  La  Levrette  will  take  everything,"  an- 
swered a  third ;  "  we  should  do  well  to  go  and  see  the 
bailiff,  that  he  may  look  after  our  inheritance." 

My  uncle  called  one  of  these  old  women,  and  asked 
her  to  explain  to  him  what  this  meant.  The  latter, 
proud  at  having  been  singled  out  by  a  stranger  who 
had  a  two-horse  carriage,  gave  her  companions  a  look 
of  triumph,  and  said  : 

"  You  have  done  well  to  ask  me,  my  good  Monsieur, 
for  I  know  all  the  details  of  this  matter  better  than  they 
do.  He  who  is  now  in  this  coffin  was  this  morning  in 
that  green  carriage  that  you  see  yonder  in  the  coach- 
house. He  was  a  grand  lord,  worth  millions,  who  was 
going  with  a  young  lady  to  Paris,  to  court  perhaps,  and 
he  stopped  here,  and  he  will  remain  in  that  poor  ceme- 


256  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

tery  to  rot  with  the  peasants  whom  he  so  despised.  He 
was  young  and  handsome,  and  I,  old  Manette,  who  am 
all  worn  out  and  good  for  nothing,  shall  go  to  sprinkle 
holy  water  on  his  grave,  and  in  ten  years,  if  I  live  so 
long,  his  rottenness  will  have  to  make  room  for  my  old 
bones.  For  in  vain  are  all  these  grand  gentlemen  rich, 
sooner  or  later  they  have  to  go  where  we  go ;  in  vain  do 
they  dress  themselves  in  velvets  and  taffetas,  their  last 
coat  is  always  made  of  the  planks  of  their  coffin;  in 
vain  do  they  care  for  and  perfume  their  skin,  the  worms 
of  the  earth  are  made  for  them  as  well  as  for  us.  To 
think  that  I,  the  old  washerwoman,  shall  be  able  to  go, 
when  I  like,  to  squat  on  a  nobleman's  grave.  Oh,  my 
good  Monsieur,  this  thought  does  us  good ;  it  consoles 
us  for  being  poor,  and  avenges  us  for  not  being  nobles. 
For  the  rest,  it  is  really  his  fault  that  he  is  dead.  He 
wanted  to  take  possession  of  a  traveller's  room  because 
it  was  the  finest  in  the  tavern.  A  quarrel  ensued  be- 
tween them ;  they  went  to  fight  in  the  garden  of  La 
Levrette,  and  the  traveller  put  a  ball  through  his  head. 
The  young  lady,  it  seems,  was  with  child,  poor  woman. 
When  she  learned  that  her  husband  was  dead,  she  was 
taken  in  labor,  and  is  scarcely  better  off  just  now  than 
her  noble  husband.  Doctor  Ddbrit  left  her  room  just 
now ;  as  I  do  his  washing,  I  inquired  of  him  regarding 
the  young  woman,  and  he  answered :  '  Ah !  Mother 
Manette,  I  would  rather  be  in  your  old  wrinkled  skin 
than  in  hers.' ' 

"  And  this  grand  lord  ?  "  said  my  uncle,  "  had  he  not 
a  red  coat,  a  light  wig,  and  three  plumes  in  his  hat?  " 

"  He  had  all  those,  my  good  Monsieur ;  perhaps  you 
knew  him  ?  " 


MY    UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 


257 


"  No,"  said  my  uncle,  "  but  I  may  have  seen  him 
somewhere." 

"  And  the  young  lady  ?  "  said  M.  Minxit,  "  is  she  not 
tall,  and  has  she  not  red  spots  on  her  face  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  good  five  feet  three  inches  in  height,"  an- 
swered the  old  woman,  "  and  has  a  skin  like  the  shell  of 
a  turkey's  egg." 

M.  Minxit  fainted. 

Benjamin  carried  M.  Minxit  to  his  bed,  and  cared  for 
him ;  then  he  asked  to  be  taken  to  Arabelle ;  for  the 
beautiful  lady. who  was  dying  in  the  pains  of  child-birth 
was  M.  Minxit's  daughter.  She  occupied  the  room  that 
her  lover  had  obtained  at  the  cost  of  his  life.  A  gloomy 
room,  truly,  the  possession  of  which  was  scarcely  worthy 
quarrelling  about. 

There  Arabelle  lay  in  a  bed  of  green  serge.  My 
uncle  opened  the  curtains  and  looked  at  her  for  some- 
time in  silence.  A  moist  and  dull  pallor,  like  that  of 
a  white  marble  statue,  had  spread  over  her  face ;  her 
half-open  eyes  were  faded  and  expressionless ;  her 
breath  escaped  in  sobs.  Benjamin  lifted  her  arm  that 
lay  motionless  along  the  bed;  having  felt  her  pulse, 
he  sadly  shook  his  head,  and  ordered  the  nurse  to  go 
for  Dr.  Ddbrit.  Arabelle,  on  hearing  his  voice,  trem- 
bled like  a  corpse  under  the  influence  of  a  galvanic 
current. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  said  she,  throwing  a  wild  look  about 
her;  "have  I,  then,  been  the  plaything  of  a  sinister 
dream?  Is  it  you,  Monsieur  Rathery,  whom  I  hear, 
and  am  I  still  at  Corvol  in  my  father's  house?" 

"  You  are  not  in  your  father's  house,"  said  my  uncle ; 
"  but  your  father  is  here.  He  is  ready  to  forgive  you ; 


258  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

he  asks  of  you  but  one  thing, —  that  you  will  allow 
yourself  to  live  that  he  may  live  also." 

Arabelle's  eyes  chanced  to  fix  themselves  upon  M.  de 
Font-Cassis  uniform,  which  was  hanging  on  the  wall, 
still  soaked  in  blood.  She  tried  to  sit  up  in  bed,  but 
her  limbs  twisted  in  a  horrible  convulsion,  and  she  fell 
back  heavily,  as  a  corpse  falls  back  that  has  been  raised 
in  its  coffin.  Benjamin  placed  his  hand  upon  her  heart ; 
it  was  no  longer  beating.  He  held  a  mirror  at  her  lips ; 
the  glass  remained  clear  and  brilliant.  .Misery  and  hap- 
piness, all  were  over  for  the  poor  Arabelle.  Benjamin 
stood  erect  at  her  bedside,  holding  her  hand  in  his,  and 
plunged  in  an  abyss  of  bitter  reflections. 

Just  then  a  heavy  and  uncertain  step  was  heard  on 
the  stairs.  Benjamin  hastened  to  turn  the  key  in  the 
lock.  It  was  M.  Minxit,  who  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
cried : 

"It  is  I,  Benjamin ;  open  the  door ;  I  wish  to  see  my 
daughter ;  I  must  see  her !  She  cannot  die  until  I  have 
seen  her." 

It  is  a  cruel  thing  to  suppose  a  dead  person  to  be 
alive,  and  to  attribute  acts  to  her  as  if  she  were  still  in 
existence.  My  uncle,  however,  did  not  shrink  from 
this  necessity. 

"  Go  away,  Monsieur  Minxit,  I  beg  of  you.  Arabelle 
is  better ;  she  is  resting :  your  sudden  presence  might 
provoke  a  crisis  that  would  kill  her." 

"  I  tell  you,  wretch,  that  I  wish  to  see  my  daughter," 
cried  M.  Minxit;  and  he  made  such  a  violent  effort 
against  the  door  that  the  staple  of  the  lock  fell  on  the 
floor. 

"  Well,"  said  Benjamin,  hoping  still  to  deceive  him, 


MY  TTNCLE  BENJAMIN.  259 

"  you  see  your  daughter  is  quietly  sleeping.  Are  you 
satisfied  now,  and  will  you  go  away  ?  " 

The  unhappy  old  man  threw  a  glance  at  his  daugh- 
ter. 

"  You  are  lying,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that  made  Ben- 
jamin tremble ;  "  she  is  not  asleep,  she  is  dead ! " 

He  threw  himself  upon  her  body  and  pressed  her 
convulsively  to  his  breast. 

"Arabelle!"  he  cried,  "  Arabelle  !  Arabelle  !  Oh! 
was  it  thus,  then,  that  I  was  to  find  you  again  ?  She, 
my  daughter,  my  only  child !  God  leaves  the  brow  of 
the  murderer  to  cover  itself  with  white  hairs,  and  he 
takes  from  a  father  his  only  child.  How  can  they  tell 
us  that  God  is  good  and  just?"  Then,  his  grief 
changing  into  anger  against  my  uncle,  he  continued: 
"  It  is  you,  miserable  Rathery,  who  caused  me  to  refuse 
her  to  M.  de  Pont-Cassd ;  but  for  you  she  would  be 
married  and  full  of  life." 

"Are  you  joking?"  said  my  uncle.  "Is  it  my  fault 
if  she  has  become  smitten  with  a  musketeer  ?  " 

All  passions  are  nothing  but  blood  rushing  to  the 
brain.  M.  Minxit's  reason  had  doubtless  given  way 
under  this  terrible  grief ;  but  in  the  paroxysm  of  his  de- 
lirium his  scarcely-closed  vein  (it  will  be  remembered 
that  my  uncle  had  just  bled  him)  reopened.  Benjamin 
allowed  the  blood  to  flow,  and  soon  a  salutary  swoon 
succeeded  this  superabundance  of  life,  and  saved  the 
poor  old  man.  Benjamin  gave  orders  and  money  to  the 
proprietor  of  La  Levrette,  in  order  that  Arabelle  and 
her  lover  might  receive  an  honorable  burial.  Then  he 
came  back  to  station  himself  at  M.  Minxit's  bedside, 
and  watched  over  him  like  a  mother  over  her  sick  child. 


260  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

M.  Minxit  remained  three  days  between  life  and  the 
grave ;  but,  thanks  to  the  skilful  and  affectionate  care 
of  my  uncle,  the  fever  which  was  devouring  him  grad- 
ually disappeared,  and  soon  he  was  in  a  condition  to  be 
carried  to  Corvol. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

A   FINAL    FESTIVAL. 

MONSIEUR  MINXIT  had  one  of  those  antediluvian 
constitutions  that  seem  made  of  more  solid  material 
than  our  own.  It  was  one  of  those  deep-rooted  plants 
that  still  preserve  a  vigorous  vegetation  when  winter 
has  withered  the  others.  Wrinkles  had  been  unable 
to  ruffle  this  granite  brow;  years  had  accumulated 
upon  his  head  without  leaving  any  trace  of  decline. 
He  had  remained  young  till  past  his  sixtieth  year,  and 
his  winter,  like  that  of  the  tropics,  was  still  full  of  sap 
and  flowers  ;  but  time  and  misfortune  forget  nobody. 

The  death  of  his  daughter,  coming  after  her  flight 
and  after  the  revelation  of  her  pregnancy,  had  dealt 
this  powerful  organization  a  mortal  blow ;  a  slow  fever 
was  silently  undermining  him.  He  had  renounced 
those  noisy  inclinations  that  had  made  his  life  one  long 
festivity.  He  had  put  aside  medicine  as  a  useless  em- 
barrassment. The  companions  of  his  long  youth  re- 
spected his  sorrow,  and,  without  ceasing  to  love  him, 
they  had  ceased  to  see  him.  His  house  was  silent  and 
sealed,  like  a  tomb;  and  scarcely  could  its  occupants 
get  a  few  stealthy  glimpses  of  the  village  through  the 
blinds  occasionally  half-opened.  The  yard  no  longer 
rang  with  the  noise  of  people  going  and  coming ;  the 
early  weeds  of  the  spring  had  taken  possession  of  the 
avenue,  and  high  domestic  plants  grew  along  the  walls, 
forming  a  circle  of  verdure. 


262  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

This  poor  soul  in  mourning  needed  nothing  now  but 
obscurity  and  silence.  He  had  done  as  the  wild  beast 
that  retires,  when  it  wishes  to  die,  into  the  gloomiest 
depths  of  its  forest.  My  uncle's  gayety  had  proved 
powerless  to  overcome  this  incurable  melancholy. 
M.  Minxit  answered  his  joyousness  only  by  a  sad  and 
gloomy  smile,  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  had  under- 
stood and  thanked  him  for  his  good  intentions. 

My  uncle  had  counted  on  the  spring  to  bring  him  back 
to  life.  But  the  spring,  which  dresses  the  dry  earth  anew 
in  flowers  and  verdure,  cannot  revive  a  grief-stricken 
soul,  and,  while  all  else  was  being  born  again,  the  poor 
man  was  slowly  dying. 

It  was  an  evening  in  the  month  of  May.  He  was 
walking  in  his  field,  resting  on  Benjamin's  arm.  The 
sky  was  clear,  the  earth  was  green  and  fragrant,  the 
nightingales  were  singing  in  the  poplars,  the  dragon- 
flies  were  hovering  among  the  reeds  of  the  brook  with 
a  harmonious  rustling  of  their  wings,  and  the  water,  all 
covered  with  hawthorn  blossoms,  was  murmuring  under 
the  roots  of  the  willows. 

"This  is  a  fine  evening,"  said  Benjamin,  trying  to 
rouse  M.  Minxit  from  the  gloomy  reverie  which  en- 
wrapped his  mind  like  a  shroud. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  latter,  "a  fine  evening  for  a 
poor  peasant  who  goes  between  two  flowering  hedges, 
with  his  pick  on  his  shoulder,  toward  his  smoking  hut, 
where  his  children  await  him;  but,  for  the  father  in 
mourning  for  his  daughter,  there  are  no  more  fine 
evenings." 

"  And  at  what  fireside,"  said  my  uncle,  "  is  there  not 
some  vacant  chair  ?  Who  has  not  in  the  field  of  rest 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  263 

some  grassy  hillock,  where  every  year,  on  All  Saints' 
day,  he  comes  to  shed  pious  tears  ?  And  in  the  streets 
of  the  city  what  throng,  however  pink  and  gilded,  is 
not  stained  with  black?  When  sons  grow  old,  they 
are  condemned  to  put  their  old  parents  in  the  grave ; 
when  they  die  in  their  prime,  they  leave  a  desolate 
mother  on  her  knees  beside  their  coffin.  Believe  me, 
man's  eyes  were  made  much  less  for  seeing  than  for 
weeping,  and  every  soul  has  its  wound,  as  every  flower 
has  its  insect  nibbling  at  it.  But  also,  in  the  path  of 
life,  God  has  put  forgetfulness,  which  follows  death 
with  slow  steps,  effacing  the  epitaphs  which  death  has 
traced  and  repairing  the  ruins  which  death  has  made. 
Are  you  willing,  my  dear  Monsieur  Minxit,  to  follow  a 
piece  of  good  advice  ?  Believe  me  then,  go  eat  carp 
on  the  shores  of  Lake  Geneva,  macaroni  at  Naples, 
drink  Xere's  wine  at  Cadiz,  and  taste  ices  at  Constan- 
tinople ;  in  a  year  you  will  come  back  as  fat  and  round 
as  you  used  to  be." 

M.  Minxit  allowed  my  uncle  to  harangue  as  long  as 
he  liked,  and,  when  he  had  finished,  he  said  to  him : 

"  How  many  days  have  I  still  to  live,  Benjamin  ?  " 

"Why?  "  said  my  uncle,  amazed  at  the  question  and 
thinking  he  had  misunderstood  him ;  "  what  do  you 
mean,  Monsieur  Minxit  ?  " 

"  I  ask  you,"  repeated  M.  Minxit,  "  how  many  days  I 
have  still  to  live." 

"  The  devil ! "  said  my  uncle,  "  that  is  a  very  em- 
barrassing question :  on  the  one  hand,  I  should  not  like 
to  disoblige  you  ;  but,  on  the  other,  I  know  not  whether 
prudence  permits  me  to  satisfy  your  desire.  They  an- 
nounce to  the  condemned  man  the  news  of  his  execu- 


264  MY   UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

tion  only  a  few  hours  before  his  journey  to  the  scaffold, 
and  you"  .  .  . 

"It  is  a  service,"  interrupted  M.  Minxit,  "which  I 
impose  upon  your  friendship,  because  you  alone  can 
render  it.  The  traveller  must  know  at  what  hour  he  is 
to  start,  in  order  that  he  may  pack  his  porte-manteau" 

"Do you  wish  me,  then,  to  speak  frankly  and  sincerely, 
Monsieur  Minxit?  Will  you,  on  your  honor,  not  be 
frightened  at  the  sentence  that  I  shall  utter?" 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,"  said  M.  Minxit. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  my  uncle,  "  I  will  speak  as  if  it 
were  myself." 

He  examined  the  old  man's  dried-up  face ;  he  inter- 
rogated his  dim,  dull  eye,  which  still  reflected  but  a  few 
gleams  of  light ;  he  consulted  his  pulse,  as  if  listening 
to  its  beating  with  his  ringers ;  and  for  some  time  was 
silent ;  then  he  said : 

"  To-day  is  Thursday ;  well,  on  Monday  there  will 
be  one  house  more  in  mourning  in  Corvol." 

"  A  very  good  diagnosis,"  said  M.  Minxit ;  "  what 
you  have  just  sai*d,  I  thought  myself ;  if  you  ever  find 
an  opportunity  to  introduce  yourself,  I  predict  that 
you  will  make  one  of  our  medical  celebrities ;  but  does 
Sunday  belong  to  me  entirely  ?  " 

"  It  belongs  to  you  from  beginning  to  end,  provided 
you  do  nothing  to  hurry  the  end  of  your  days." 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  do,"  said  M.  Minxit ;  "  do 
me  now  the  service  of  inviting  our  friends  for  Sunday 
to  a  solemn  dinner ;  I  do  not  wish  to  go  away  on  bad 
terms  with  life,  and  it  is  with  glass  in  hand  that  I  desire 
to  make  my  farewell.  You  will  insist  on  their  accept- 
ance of  my  invitation,  making  it,  if  necessary,  a  duty 
on  their  part." 


MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  265 

"  I  will  go  myself  to  invite  them,"  said  my  uncle, 
"  and  I  guarantee  that  none  of  them  shall  fail  you." 

"  Now,  let  us  pass  to  another  order  of  ideas.  I  do 
not  wish  to  be  buried  in  the  churchyard;  it  lies  in  a 
valley,  it  is  cold  arid  damp,  and  the  shadow  of  the 
church  stretches  over  its  surface  like  crape.  I  should 
be  uncomfortable  in  that  spot,  and  you  know  that  I  like 
my  ease.  I  desire  you  to  bury  me  in  my  field,  at  the 
edge  of  this  brook  of  whose  harmonious  song  I  am  so 
fond."  He  tore  up  a  handful  of  grass,  and  said :  "  See, 
here  is  the  spot  where  I  wish  you  to  dig  my  last  resting- 
place.  You  will  plant  here  a  bower  of  vines  and  honey- 
suckles, in  order  that  the  verdure  may  be  mingled  with 
flowers,  and  you  will  come  here  sometimes  to  dream  of 
your  old  friend.  In  order  that  you  may  come  oftener, 
and  also  in  order  that  they  may  not  disturb  my  sleep,  I 
leave  you  this  domain  and  all  my  other  property.  But 
this  is  on  two  conditions :  first,  that  you  shall  live  in 
the  house  that  I  am  about  to  leave  empty ;  and,  second, 
that  you  shall  continue  to  attend  my  patients  as  I  have 
attended  them  for  thirty  years." 

"I  accept  with  gratitude  this  double  inheritance," 
said  my  uncle,  "  but  I  warn  you  that  I  will  not  go  to 
the  fairs." 

"  Granted,"  answered  M.  Minxit. 

"  As  for  your  patients,"  added  Benjamin,  "  I  will 
treat  them  conscientiously  and  according  to  the  system 
of  Tissot,  which  seems  to  me  founded  on  experience  and 
reason.  The  first  one  of  them  to  leave  this  world  shall 
bring  you  news  of  me." 

"  I  feel  the  cold  of  evening  creeping  over  me ;  it  is 
time  to  say  farewell  to  this  sky,  to  these  old  trees  which 


266  MY  TTNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

will  never  see  me  more,  to  these  little  birds  that  sing, 
for  we  shall  not  come  back  here  till  Monday  morning." 

The  next  day  he  shut  himself  up  with  his  friend,  the 
tabellion.  The  day  after  that  he  grew  weaker  and 
weaker  and  kept  his  bed ;  but,  when  Sunday  came,  he 
rose,  had  himself  powdered,  and  put  on  his  best  coat. 
Benjamin,  as  he  had  promised,  had  been  to  Clamecy  to 
extend  the  invitations ;  not  one  of  his  friends  had  failed 
to  respond  to  this  funeral  call,  and  at  four  o'clock  they 
found  themselves  all  gathered  in  the  drawing-room. 

M.  Minxit  was  not  slow  in.  making  his  appearance, 
tottering  and  resting  on  my  uncle's  arm.  He  shook 
hands  with  all  of  them,  and  thanked  them  affectionately 
for  having  conformed  to  his  last  desire,  which  was,  he 
said,  the  caprice  of  a  dying  man. 

This  man  whom  they  had  seen  sometime  before,  so 
gay,  so  happy,  and  so  full  of  life,  grief  had  broken ;  old 
age  had  come  upon  him  at  one  stroke.  At  sight  of 
him,  all  shed  tears,  and  Arthus  himself  suddenly  felt 
his  appetite  leave  him. 

A  servant  announced  that  dinner  was  ready.  M. 
Minxit  placed  himself  as  usual  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he  to  his  guests,  "  this  dinner  is 
to  me  a  final  dinner ;  I  wish  my  last  looks  to  be  fixed 
only  on  full  glasses  and  merry  faces ;  if  you  wish  to 
please  me,  you  will  give  free  course  to  your  accustomed 
gayety." 

He  poured  out  a  few  drops  of  Burgundy,  and  ex- 
tended his  glass  to  his  guests.  They  all  said  together : 

"To  M.  Minxit's  health!" 

"No,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "not  to  my  health;  of  what 
use  is  a  wish  that  cannot  be  gratified?  But  to  your 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  267 

health,  to  you  all,  to  your  prosperity,  to  your  happi- 
ness, and  may  God  keep  those  of  you  who  have  chil- 
dren from  losing  them  !  " 

"  M.  Minxit,"  said  Guillerand,  "  has  taken  things 
too  much  to  heart;  I  should  not  have  thought  him 
capable  of  dying  of  sorrow.  I  too  have  lost  a  daugh- 
ter, a  daughter  whom  I  placed  at  school  with  the  Sis- 
ters. It  pained  me  for  a  time,  but  now  I  am  none  the 
worse  for  it,  and  sometimes,  I  confess,  the  thought 
occurs  to  me  that  I  have  no  longer  to  pay  her  board." 

"  A  bottle  broken  in  your  wine-cellar,"  said  Arthus, 
"  or  a  scholar  taken  from  your  school  would  have 
caused  you  more  sorrow." 

"It  well  becomes  you,"  said  Millot,  "to  talk  thus, 
you,  Arthus,  who  fear  no  misfortune  except  the  loss  of 
appetite." 

"  I  have  more  bowels  than  you,  song-maker,"  an- 
swered Arthus. 

"  Yes,  for  digestive  purposes,"  said  the  poet. 

"  Well,  it  is  of  some  value  to  be  able  to  digest  well," 
replied  Arthus ;  "  at  least,  when  you  go  in  a  cart, 
your  friends  are  not  obliged  to  fasten  you  to  the  cart- 
stakes,  for  fear  of  losing  you  on  the  way." 

"  Arthus,"  said  Millot,  "  no  personalities,  I  pray  you." 

"  I  know,"  answered  Arthus,  "  that  you  bear  me  ill- 
will  because  I  fell  on  you  on  the  way  from  Corvol. 
But  sing  me  your  '  Grand-Noel,'  and  we  shall  be  quits." 

"  And  I  maintain  that  my  song  is  a  fine  bit  of  poesy ; 
do  you  wish  me  to  show  you  a  letter  from  Monseigneur 
the  bishop,  who  compliments  me  upon  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  put  your  song  on  the  gridiron,  and  you  will 
find  out  what  it  is  worth." 


268  MY   UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

"  I  recognize  you  there,  Arthus ;  you  value  nothing 
that  isn't  roasted  or  boiled." 

"  What  would  you  ?  My  sensitiveness  resides  in  my 
palate  ;  and  I  like  as  well  to  have  it  there  as  anywhere 
else.  Is  a  solidly-organized  digestive  apparatus  worth 
less,  for  purposes  of  happiness,  than  a  largely-developed 
brain?  That  is  the  question." 

"  If  we  should  leave  it  to  a  duck  or  a  pig,  I  do  not 
doubt  that  they  would  decide  it  in  your  favor ;  but  I 
take  Benjamin  for  judge." 

"  Your  song  suits  me  very,  well,"  said  my  uncle : 

" '  A  genoux,  chretien?,  a  genoux ' : 

That  is  superb.  What  Christian  could  refuse  to  kneel 
when  you  invite  him  to  do  so  twice  in  a  line  of  eight 
syllables?  But  I  am  of  the  opinion  of  Arthus  ;  I  prefer 
a  cutlet  in  papers." 

"  A  joke  is  not  a  reply,"  said  Millot. 

"  Well,  do  you  think  that  there  is  any  moral  sorrow 
that  causes  as  much  suffering  as  a  tooth-ache  or  an  ear- 
ache ?  If  the  body  suffers  more  keenly  than  the  soul, 
it  must  likewise  enjoy  more  energetically ;  that  is  logic  ; 
pain  and  pleasure  result  from  the  same  faculty." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "that,  if  I  had  my 
choice  between  the  stomach  of  M.  Arthus  and  the  over- 
oxygenated  brain  of  J.  J.  Rousseau,  I  should  take  the 
stomach  of  M.  Arthus.  Sensitiveness  is  the  faculty  of 
suffering ;  to  be  sensitive  is  to  walk  barefooted  over  the 
sharp  pebbles  of  life,  to  pass  through  the  crowd  that 
rubs  against  and  jostles  you,  with  an  open  wound  in 
your  side.  Man's  unhappiness  consists  of  unsatisfied 
desires.  Now,  every  soul  that  feels  too  keenly  is  a  bal- 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

loon  that  would  like  to  mount  to  heaven  but  cannot  go 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  atmosphere.  Give  a  man  good 
health  and  a  good  appetite,  and  plunge  his  soul  into 
perpetual  somnolence,  and  he  will  be  the  happiest  of  all 
beings.  To  develop  his  intelligence  is  to  sow  thorns  in 
his  life.  The  peasant  who  plays  at  skittles  is  happier 
than  the  man  of  wit  who  reads  a  fine  book." 

All  the  guests  became  silent  after  these  words. 

"  Parlanta,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "  what  is  the  status  of 
my  suit  against  Malthus  ?  " 

"  We  have  a  warrant  for  his  arrest,"  said  the  sheriff's 
officer. 

"Well,  you  will  throw  all  the  documents  into  the 
fire,  and  Benjamin  will  reimburse  you  for  the  costs. 
And  you,  Rapin,  how  does  my  trouble  with  the  clergy 
in  relation  to  my  music  come  on  ?  " 

"  The  case  is  postponed  for  a  week,"  said  Rapin. 

"  Then  they  will  sentence  me  by  default,"  answered 
M.  Minxit. 

"  But,"  said  Rapin,  "  perhaps  there  will  be  a  heavy 
fine.  The  sexton  has  testified  that  the  sergeant  in- 
sulted the  vicar  when  the  latter  summoned  him  to  evac- 
uate the  square  in  front  of  the  church  with  his  band." 

"  That  is  not  true,"  said  the  sergeant ;  "  I  only 
ordered  the  band  to  play  the  air :  '  Where  are  you 
going,  Monsieur  Abbe"?" 

"  In  that  case,"  said  M.  Minxit,  "  Benjamin  will  flog 
the  sexton  at  the  first  opportunity ;  I  want  the  scamp  to 
remember  me." 

They  had  reached  the  dessert.  M.  Minxit  made  a 
punch,  and  poured  into  his  glass  a  few  drops  of  the 
flaming  liquor. 


270  MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

"  That  will  hurt  you,  Monsieur  Minxit,"  said  Mache- 
court. 

"And  what  can  hurt  me  now,  my  good  Machecourt? 
I  must  make  my  farewell  to  all  that  has  been  dear  to 
me  in  life." 

Meanwhile  his  strength  rapidly  grew  less,  and  he 
could  express  himself  only  in  a  weak  voice. 

"  You  know,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  that  it  is  to  my 
funeral  that  I  have  invited  you ;  I  have  had  beds  pre- 
pared for  all  of  you,  in  order  that  you  may  be  in  readi- 
ness to-morrow  morning  to  escort  me  to  my  last  resting- 
place.  I  wish  no  one  to  weep  over  my  death :  instead 
of  crape,  you  will  wear  roses  in  your  coats,  and,  after 
wetting  the  leaves  in  a  glass  of  champagne,  you  will 
strew  them  over  my  grave.  It  is  the  cure  of  a  sick 
man,  the  deliverance  of  a  captive,  that  you  celebrate. 
And  by  the  way,"  he  added,  "  which  of  you  will  under- 
take my  funeral  oration  ?  " 

"  It  shall  be  Page,"  said  some. 

"  No,"  answered  M.  Minxit,  "  Page  is  a  lawyer,  and 
at  the  grave  the  truth  must  be  told.  I  prefer  that  it 
should  be  Benjamin." 

"  I ! "  said  my  uncle ;  "  you  know  very  well  that  I  am 
no  orator." 

"  You  are  enough  of  an  orator  for  me,"  answered  M. 
Minxit.  "  Come,  speak  to  me  as  if  I  were  lying  in  my 
coffin ;  I  should  be  much  pleased  to  hear  while  living 
what  posterity  will  say  of  me." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Benjamin,  "  I  really  don't  know  what 
to  say." 

"  What  you  like,  but  make  haste,  for  I  feel  myself 
sinking." 


MY  TJNCLE  BENJAMIN.  271 

"  Well,"  said  my  uncle,  " '  he  whom  we  lay  under 
this  foliage  leaves  behind  him  unanimous  regrets.' " 

"'Unanimous  regrets'  is  not  good,"  said  M.  Minxit; 
"  no  man  leaves  behind  him  unanimous  regrets ;  that 
is  a  lie  that  can  be  retailed  only  from  a  pulpit." 

"  Do  you  prefer  '  friends  who  will  weep  over  him  for 
a  long  time  '  ?  " 

"  That  is  less  ambitious,  but  it  is  no  more  exact.  For 
one  friend  who  loves  us  loyally  and  without  reserve, 
we  have  twenty  enemies  hidden  in  the  shadow,  who 
await  in  silence,  like  a  hunter  in  ambush,  an  opportu- 
nity to  injure  us ;  I  am  sure  that  there  are  in  this  vil- 
lage many  people  who  will  be  happy  at  my  death." 

"Well,  'he  leaves  behind  him  inconsolable  friends,'" 
said  my  uncle. 

" '  Inconsolable '  is  another  falsehood,"  answered 
M.  Minxit.  "We  doctors  do  not  know  what  part  of 
our  organization  sorrow  affects,  or  how  it  makes  us  suf- 
fer ;  but  it  is  a  disease  that  is  cured  without  treatment 
and  very  quickly.  Most  sorrows  are  to  the  heart  of 
man  only  slight  scabs  that  fall  almost  as  soon  as  they 
are  formed;  none  are  inconsolable  except  fathers  and 
mothers  who  have  children  in  the  grave." 

" '  Who  will  long  preserve  your  memory ' ;  does  that 
suit  you  better  ?  " 

"That  will  do,"  said  M.  Minxit;  "and  that  this 
memory  may  be  more  lasting,  I  provide  a  permanent 
fund  for  a  dinner  to  be  eaten  at  each  anniversary  of  my 
death,  at  which  you  will  all  be  present  as  long  as  you 
remain  in  this  part  of  the  country ;  Benjamin  is 
charged  with  the  execution  of  my  will." 

"  That  is  better  than  a  service,"  said  my  uncle  ;  and 


272  MY  UNCLE   BENJAMIN. 

he  continued  in  these  terms  :  " '  I  will  not  speak  to  you 
of  his  virtues.' " 

"  Say  '  qualities,' "  said  M.  Minxit ;  "  that  savors  less 
of  exaggeration." 

" '  Nor  of  his  talents :  you  have  all  been  in  a  position 
to  appreciate  them.' " 

"  Especially  Arthus,  from  whom  I  have  won  during 
the  past  year  forty-five  bottles  of  beer  at  billiards." 

" '  I  will  not  tell  you  that  he  was  a  good  father ;  you 
all  know  that  he  is  dead  from  having  loved  his  daugh' 
ter  too  well.' " 

"  Alas !  would  to  Heaven  that  that  were  true ! " 
answered  M.  Minxit,  "but  it  is  a  deplorable  truth, 
which  I  can  no  longer  conceal,  that  my  daughter  is 
dead  because  I  did  not  love  her  enough.  My  conduct 
toward  her  lias  been  that  of  an  execrable  egoist :  she 
loved  a  nobleman,  and  I  did  not  wish  her  to  marry  him 
because  I  detested  noblemen ;  she  did  not  lov.e  Benja- 
min, and  I  wished  him  to  become  my  son-in-law  be- 
cause I  loved  him.  But  I  hope  that  God  will  pardon 
me.  We  did  not  make  our  passions,  and  our  passions 
always  govern  our  reason.  We  must  obey  the  instincts 
that  he  has  given  us,  as  the  duck  obeys  the  imperative 
instinct  that  takes  it  toward  the  river." 

" '  He  was  a  good  son,'  "  continued  my  uncle. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it?  "  answered  M.  Minxit. 
"That  is  the  way  in  which  epitaphs  and  funeral  ora- 
tions are  made.  Those  paths  that  run  through  our 
cemeteries  lined  with  graves  and  cypresses  are  like  the 
columns  of  a  newspaper, —  full  of  lies  and  falsehood. 
The  fact  is  that  I  never  knew  either  my  father  or  my 
mother,  and  it  is  not  clearly  demonstrated  that  I  was 


MY  UNCLE  BENJAMIN.  273 

born  of  the  union  of  a  man  and  a  woman ;  but  I  have 
never  complained  of  the  abandonment  in  which  I  was 
left ;  it  did  not  prevent  me  from  making  my  way,  and, 
if  I  had  had  a  family,  perhaps  I  should  not  have  gone 
so  far :  a  family  embarrasses  and  thwarts  you  in  a  thou- 
sand ways ;  you  must  obey  its  ideas,  and  not  yours ; 
you  are  not  free  to  follow  your  vocation,  and,  in  the 
path  in  which  it  often  throws  you,  from  the  first  step 
you  find  yourself  in  the  mire." 

" '  He  was  a  good  husband,' "  said  my  uncle. 

"Indeed,  I  am  not  too  sure  of  that,"  said  M.  Minxit; 
"  I  married  my  wife  without  loving  her,  and  I  have 
never  loved  her  much ;  but  with  me  she  always  had  her 
own  way :  when  she  wanted  a  dress,  she  bought  one ; 
when  a  servant  displeased  her,  she  discharged  him.  If 
that  is  what  makes  a  good  husband,  so  much  the  better ! 
But  I  shall  soon  know  what  God  thinks  about  it." 

"  *  He  has  bsen  a  good  citizen,' "  said  my  uncle : 
"'you  have  been  witnesses  of  the  zeal  with  which  he 
has  labored  to  spread  among  the  people  ideas  of  reform 
and  liberty.' " 

"  You  can  say  that  now  without  compromising  me." 

" '  I  will  not  say  to  you  that  he  was  a  good  friend.'  " 

"  But  then  what  will  you  say  ?  "  said  M.  Minxit. 

"  A  little  patience,"  said  Benjamin.  " '  His  intelli- 
gence has  enabled  him  to  win  the  favor  of  fortune.'  " 

"  Not  precisely  my  intelligence,"  said  M.  Minxit, 
"  although  mine  is  as  good  as  another's ;  I  have  profited 
by  the  credulity  of  men;  that  takes  audacity  rather 
than  intelligence." 

" '  And  his  wealth  has  always  been  at  the  service  of 
the  unfortunate.' " 


274  MY  TJNCLE  BENJAMIN. 

M.  Minxit  gave  a  sign  of  assent. 

" '  He  has  lived  as  a  philosopher,  enjoying  life  and 
causing  those  around  him  to  enjoy  it,  and  he  has  died 
as  a  philosopher  also,  surrounded  by  his  friends,  after  a 
grand  feast.  Passers-b}'-,  drop  a  flower  upon  his  grave.'  " 

"  That  is  pretty  nearly  right,"  said  M.  Minxit.  "  Now, 
gentlemen,  let  us  drink  the  stirrup-cup,  and  wish  me  a 
pleasant  journey." 

He  ordered  the  sergeant  to  carry  him  to  his  bed.  My 
uncle  wanted  to  follow  him,  but  he  was  opposed  to  it, 
and  insisted  that  they  should  remain  at  table  until  the 
following  day. 

An  hour  later  he  sent  for  Benjamin.  The  latter 
hurried  to  his  bedside ;  M.  Minxit  had  only  time  to 
take  his  hand,  and  then  expired. 

The  next  morning  Monsieur  Minxit's  coffin,  sur- 
rounded by  his  friends  and  followed  by  a  long  procession 
of  peasants,  was  about  to  leave  the  house. 

The  priest  presented  himself  at  the  door,  and  ordered 
the  bearers  to  take  the  body  to  the  churchyard. 

"  But,"  said  my  uncle,  "  it  is  not  to  the  churchyard 
that  M.  Minxit  intends  to  go ;  he  is  going  to  his  field, 
and  no  one  has  a  right  to  prevent  it." 

The  priest  objected  that  the  remains  of  a  Christian 
could  rest  only  in  consecrated  ground. 

"Is  the  ground  to  which  we  carry  M.  Minxit  less 
consecrated  than  yours?  Do  not  the  flowers  and  the 
grass  grow  there  as  well  as  in  the  churchyard  ?  " 

"  Then,"  said  the  priest,  "  you  wish  your  friend  to  be 
damned?" 

"  Allow  me,"  said  my  uncle :  "  M.  Minxit  has  been 
in  the  presence  of  God  since  yesterday,  and,  unless  his 


TVTT  UNCLE   BENJAMIN.  275 

case  lias  been  postponed  a  week,  he  is  now  judged.  In 
case  he  has  been  damned,  it  will  not  be  your  funeral 
ceremony  that  will  revoke  his  sentence,  and,  in  case  he 
has  been  saved,  of  what  use  will  the  ceremony  be  ?  " 

The  priest  cried  that  Benjamin  was  an  impious  man, 
and  ordered  the  peasants  to  leave.  All  obeyed,  and  the 
bearers  themselves  were  disposed  to  follow  their  ex- 
ample ;  but  my  uncle  drew  his  sword  and  said : 

"  The  bearers  have  been  paid  to  carry  the  body  to  its 
last  resting-place,  and  they  must  earn  their  money.  If 
they  perform  their  task  well,  each  shall  have  his  pay : 
if,  on  the  contrary,  one  of  them  refuses  to  go,  I  will 
beat  him  with  the  flat  of  my  sword  till  he  falls  to  the 
ground." 

The  bearers,  even  more  frightened  by  Benjamin's 
threats  than  by  the  priest's,  made  up  their  mind  to 
march,  and  M.  Minxit  was  laid  in  his  grave  with  all  the 
formalities  that  Benjamin  had  indicated. 

On  his  return  from  the  funeral,  my  uncle  had  an 
income  of  ten  thousand  francs.  Perhaps  we  shall  see 
later  what  use  he  made  of  his  fortune. 


THE  END. 


APPENDIX. 

CLAUDE  TILLIEE,.* 

AT  the  beginning  of  the  fifties,  while  I  was  saunter- 
ing through  Paris  one  day  and  standing  before  one  of 
those  itinerant  news  stalls  that  exhibit  their  wares  on  the 
ramparts  of  the  quais  and  under  the  archways  of  the 
houses,  my  eyes  caught  sight  of  a  stitched  volume,  of 
damaged  appearance.  No  cover,  no  title-page,  no  pref- 
ace, neither  author  nor  printer, —  nothing  but  a  dirty 
title  pasted  on  with  the  three  words :  Mon  Oncle  Ben- 
jamin. I  do  not  know  what  attraction  these  three 
words  had  for  me,  but  they  seemed  to  look  at  me  in  a 
friendly  way,  as  if  to  say :  "  Only  turn  the  leaves,  you 
will  not  regret  it."  I  was  not  long  to  be  entreated,  and, 
indeed,  scarcely  had  I  hurried  through  a  few  pages 
when  both  style  and  contents  began  to  fascinate  me  in 
such  a  degree  that  I  bought  the  book  for  a  few  sous  and 
put  it  in  my  pocket.  Then  I  went  to  the  Luxembourg 
garden,  took  a  seat  beneath  a  chestnut  tree,  and  did  not 
rise  again  until  I  had  read  the  book  to  the  end. 

For  a  long  time  no  book  had  yielded  me  such  deep 
satisfaction ;  but  by  whom  was  it  ?  The  simple,  con- 
cise, and  direct  style  seemed  to  be  that  of  the  eighteenth 
century ;  the  narrative,  so  natural  and  without  reserve 
and  circumlocution,  recalled  Voltaire,  Diderot,  and  Le 

•This  sketch  of  Claude  Tillier's  life  and  works  is  translated  from  the 
German  of  Ludwig  Pf  au  by  George  Schumm. 


APPENDIX.  277 

Sage ;  the  genuine  feeling  for  nature  and  mankind 
maybe  also  conveyed  a  suggestion  of  the  sentimentalism 
of  Rousseau.  But  the  whole  manner  of  expression  was 
more  spontaneous,  popular,  and  richer  in  color;  and 
even  if  the  author  had  not  introduced  himself  as  a  grand- 
child of  that  generation,  the  spirit  of  liberty  and  equal- 
ity that  permeates  his  book  betrayed  too  much  of  modern 
thought  not  to  have  lain  at  the  breasts  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. Moreover,  in  spite  of  all  that  family  resemblance, 
the  character  of  the  author  was  so  independent,  his 
humor  so  peculiar,  as  to  permit  of  explanation  only  by 
the  individuality  of  the  man. 

Greatly  as  I  was  delighted,  therefore,  by  the  beauty 
of  the  book,  greater  almost  was  my  astonishment  to  find 
its  author  so  entirely  forgotten.  How  came  it  that  a 
man  of  such  talent  was  not  in  everybody's  mouth  ?  How 
could  a  writer  who  so  easily  wins  the  sympathies  of  the 
reader  remain  wholly  in  concealment  ?  For  a  long  time 
I  made  vain  inquiry  among  litterateurs  and  the  trade, 
until  I  finally  succeeded  in  discovering  the  traces  of  my 
Great  Unknown,  who  in  the  meantime,  to  be  sure,  has 
acquired  a  certain  popularity.  I  secured  the  four  vol- 
umes of  his  writings  that  were  published  at  Nevers  in 
1846,  and  learned  now  that  his  name  was  Claude  Tillier, 
that  he  had  lived  in  the  province,  died  in  the  province, 
and  was  therefore  being  ignored  by  Paris. 

Claude  Tillier  is  probably  the  only  highly-gifted 
French  writer  of  this  century  who  could  decide  to  play 
his  modest  part  in  the  obscurity  of  a  small  town.  A  child 
of  the  Revolution,  he  was  born  on  the  21st  of  Germinal  in 
the  year  IX.  of  the  republic,  or  on  the  10th  of  April, 
1801,  in  Clamecy,  a  small  town  in  the  department  of 


278  APPENDIX. 

Nievre.  His  father  was  a  locksmith.  Already  as  a  boy 
he  was  wont  to  take  the  part  of  the  weaker  in  the  fights 
of  his  comrades  and  oppose  the  stronger.  In  conse- 
quence of  this  pernicious  inclination  he  came  home  one 
day  with  a  broken  arm.  But  his  talents  kept  equal 
pace  with  his  courage,  and  he  so  distinguished  himself 
while  at  school  as  to  win  the  town  scholarship  of  Cla- 
mecy  in  1813  among  numerous  competitors.  With  this 
assistance  he  completed  his  studies  at  the  lyceum  of 
Bourges. 

During  the  first  Restoration,  Claude,  the  child  of  the 
Revolution,  who,  as  he  himself  says,  drank  his  mother's 
milk  out  of  the  field-flasks  of  the  daughters  of  the  regi- 
ment, rebelled  against  the  new  order  of  things.  Placing 
himself  at  the  head  of  a  riot  at  school,  he  met  the  shout : 
Vive  le  roi  !  with  the  exclamation :  Vive  Vempereur  !  He 
tore  up  the  white  cockade  and  wrote  his  mother  an  en- 
thusiastic letter,  which  later  fell  into  hostile  hands  and 
shut  him  out  from  the  career  of  a  public  instructor  dur- 
ing the  second  Restoration. 

Completing  his  studies  in  1819,  Tillier  left  the  col- 
lege of  Bourges.  He  now  became  an  assistant  teacher, 
first  at  the  college  of  Saissons,  and  later  at  a  boarding 
school  in  Paris.  In  1821  he  was  drawn  into  military 
service  and  obliged  to  take  part  in  the  campaign  of 
1823  as  subaltern  of  the  artillery.  The  son  of  liberty, 
he  must  march  in  favor  of  the  Holy  Alliance  against 
the  Spaniards  !  After  passing  six  years,  full  of  disgust 
and  weariness,  in  military  service  (where,  moreover,  he 
laid  the  seeds  of  the  lung  trouble  that  was  to  prove 
fatal),  he  returned  home  in  November,  1828.  He  be- 
came teacher  of  the  communal  school  and  got  married. 


APPENDIX.  279 

Now  Tillier  begins  to  attract  attention  as  a  writer ; 
he  becomes  a  zealous  contributor  to  a  small  opposition 
paper  that  was  founded  in  Clamecy  in  1831  under  the 
title,  "  L'Inde*pendant."  Not  satisfied  with  teaching 
the  young,  he  wishes  also  to  instruct  the  old.  But 
people  unwilling  to  learn  prove  unfriendly  towards 
those  who  give  them  lessons,  and  they  revenged  them- 
selves on  the  writer  at  the  expense  of  the  schoolmaster. 
His  opponents  moved,  in  public  meeting,  to  appoint  a 
second  principal,  and  to  divide  the  salary  between  the 
two.  Tillier  defended  himself  with  his  "  hard  and 
pointed  weapons,"  as  he  himself  calls  them.  He  sub- 
mitted a  remonstrance  to  the  common  council,  in  which 
he  brought  out  the  incongruity  of  the  proposition  in  a 
humorous  way,  by  comparing  the  union  of  two  teachers 
to  a  double  team  consisting  of  a  horse  and  a  donkey. 
But,  tired  of  the  squabble,  he  finally  consented  to  the 
discharge  of  the  horse,  and  left  the  vehicle  to  the  other 
companion.  The  police  court,  however,  took  the  part 
of  the  donkey,  and  the  unharnessed  schoolmaster  had 
to  atone  for  the  directness  of  his  speech  with  eight  days' 
imprisonment. 

Tillier  now  founded  a  private  school,  which  was 
originally  well  attended.  But  the  antagonisms  that  led 
to  the  catastrophe  of  1848,  the  dissensions  between  a 
rotten  bourgeoisie  that  had  shared  the  spoils  of  1830 
with  royalism  and  the  outraged  people  who  had  gained 
nothing,  were  at  that  time  coming  to  a  head.  True  to 
himself,  Tillier  took  the  part  of  the  oppressed,  and  soon 
the  whole  camp  of  corruption  —  official  robe,  cowl,  and 
money-bag — had  entered  into  a  conspiracy  against  him. 
These  natural  enemies  of  every  free  and  noble  character 


280  APPENDIX. 

strove  to  cut  the  poor  schoolmaster  off  from  the  eco- 
nomic means  of  life.  Political  hatred  and  religious  per- 
secution placed  themselves  in  ambush  to  draw  away  his 
pupils.  Fatted  bourgeois  and  fanatical  confessors  be- 
labored the  fathers  and  terrified  the  mothers  until  the 
private  school  more  and  more  melted  away. 

But  as  it  ever  happens  that  the  evil  principle  incurs 
its  own  defeat  by  its  victory,  so  also  Tillier  was  urged 
on  to  his  literary  calling  by  these  persecutions,  and  his 
mighty  pen  dealt  the  reactionaries  far  severer  and  more 
effective  blows  than  his  teacher's  rod  could  ever  have 
done.  In  1840  he  published  his  first  pamphlet  under 
the  title :  "  A  Raftsman,  to  the  Common  Council  of 
Clamecy."  This  was  followed  by  the  "  Letters  on  Elec- 
toral Reform,"  which  appeared  in  the  "  National."  In 
1841  there  was  already  such  a  good  ring  to  his  name 
that  he  received  a  call  to  Nevers  to  assume  the  editorial 
chair  of  the  journal,  "  L' Association."  Here  he  wrote 
for  the  feuilleton  two  stories :  his  "  Oncle  Benjamin  " 
and  "  Belleplante  and  Cornelius."  The  first,  a  charm- 
ing sketch  of  the  Nivernese  manners  and  customs  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  combines  the  spiritual  freshness  of 
Gallic  presentation  with  that  German  humor  that  laughs 
through  tears,  and  is  in  this  respect  unique  in  French 
literature.  As  if  in  play  and  by  a  few  strokes,  the  mas- 
terful description  endows  a  character  with  flesh  and 
blood,  and  places  him,  as  by  magic,  in  full  life  before 
the  eyes  of  the  reader.  Experienced  rather  than  in. 
vented,  sprung  from  the  fulness  of  artistic  observation, 
the  "  Oncle  Benjamin  "  belongs  to  those  favored  spirit- 
ual children  of  which  the  most  fortunate  father  produces 
but  one ;  to  those  rare  books  which  by  the  delicate  — 


APPENDIX.  281 

because  unconscious  —  blending  of  the  ideal  and  the 
real  become  the  common  property  of  all  times  and 
places  and  pass  from  generation  to  generation  in  eternal 
youth.  The  other  story  treats  of  the  joys  and  suffer- 
ings of  the  inventor  in  battle  with  the  commonplace  ;  it 
is  more  of  a  fantastic  nature,  but  rich  in  beautiful  pas- 
sages. 

The  "  Association  "  finally  succumbed  to  a  systematic 
persecution ;  but  Tillier,  although  ill,  did  not  lay  down 
the  pen.  He  now  wrote  a  first  series  of  twenty-four 
pamphlets,  then  a  second  one  of  twelve.  The  wealth  of 
satirical  fire,  philosophical  humor,  and  poetical  power 
that  he  spent  in  these  pamphlets  is  something  amazing. 
The  elector,  the  tax-collector,  the  prefect,  the  bishop, 
the  priest,  the  professor,  the  mayor,  the  miracle-perform- 
ing saint,  and  the  severe  beadle,  all  the  half-gods  of  the 
district,  the  giants  of  the  country  town,  must  take  the 
floor  and  play  their  part.  But  his  favorite  antagonist, 
his  hereditary  foe,  is  the  late  M.  Dupin,  president  of 
the  chamber  of  the  republic  and  deputy  of  the  July 
revolution  and  subsequent  attorney-general  and  senator 
of  the  second  empire.  Nor  can  one  imagine  two  more 
complete  opposites  than  these  two  men;  the  modest, 
unselfish  pamphleteer,  full  of  tenderness  and  fidelity  of 
thought,  and  the  greedy,  venal  political  parasite,  shame- 
less and  without  principle.  When  this  type  of  corrup- 
tion appears  on  the  scene  in  his  great  galoches,  the  style 
of  Tillier  also  puts  on  clouted  shoes,  the  better  to  step 
on  the  feet  of  his  adversary.  The  "  Pamphlets  "  consti- 
tute a  history  of  the  liberal  aspirations  of  the  province 
under  Louis  Philippe ;  they  furnish  a  comprehensive 
picture  of  the  struggles  and  battles  which  the  demo- 


282  APPENDIX. 

cratic  opposition  fought  in  all  departments  with  the 
July  government.  Tillier  did  not  live  to  see  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  second  series.  His  lung  trouble  passed 
into  consumption,  and  so  he  faded  away,  pen  in  hand, 
like  a  sentinel  who  in  his  fall  still  exclaims:  "Com- 
rades, here  is  the  enemy ! "  He  died  at  Nevers,  Octo- 
ber 12,  1844,  aged  forty-three  years. 

Such  is,  in  few  words,  the  life  —  so  brief  and  so  full, 
so  modest  and  so  meritorious  —  of  a  man  of  genius.  As 
child, —  a  broken  arm ;  as  boy, —  a  rebellion  ;  as  youth, 
—  a  soldier's  fate  ;  as  man, —  a  school-room,  then  prison, 
persecution,  struggle,  misery,  and  finally  death !  He 
died  poor  as  he  had  lived,  but,  notwithstanding  his  pov- 
erty, he  frequently  made  himself  responsible  for  his 
friends  and  found  means,  when  necessary,  to  pay  for 
them.  The  abstemiousness  of  the  philosopher  and  the 
carelessness  of  the  artist  constituted  the  features  of  his 
character.  In  all  questions  we  find  him  on  the  side  of 
truth,  liberty,  and  justice.  Whether  he  attacks  the 
superstition  and  intolerance  of  an  ambitious  clergy  or 
the  selfishness  and  corruption  of  a  wealthy  bourgeoisie  ; 
whether  he  champions  the  right  of  suffrage  and  the  lib- 
erty of  the  press,  or  writes  against  the  dotation  of  the 
Duke  of  Nemaurs  and  in  derision  of  the  thighbone  of 
Sainte  Flavia,  all  these  little  masterpieces  of  polemics 
reveal  the  same  warm  feeling  of  justice,  the  same 
healthy  common  sense,  and  the  same  relentless  logic 
that  will  never  let  go  of  what  it  has  once  seized,  and 
which  a  miracle-performing  saint  will  no  more  escape 
than  a  royal  prince. 

A  master  of  form  and  abounding  in  matter,  thinker 
and  artist,  politician  and  poet,  bright  and  clear,  grace- 


APPENDIX.  283 

fill  and  pointed,  Claude  Tillier  is  the  genuine  expres- 
sion of  French  literature.  Born  in  the  centre  of  an- 
cient Gaul,  near  the  Loire,  in  the  true  home  of  the 
Gallic  spirit,  on  the  boundary  line  between  Troubadour 
and  Trouvere,  he  has,  like  the  wine  its  bouquet,  the 
peculiar  taste  of  the  soil  whose  product  he  is.  This 
happy  zone  has  brought  forth  many  a  writer  of  precious 
humor,  keen  intellect,  and  biting  satire ;  but  notably 
Tillier's  spiritual  kinsman,  Paul  Louis  Courier,  and 
the  father  of  the  pamphlet  and  of  satire,  the  master  of 
Montaigne,  Moliere,  and  Voltaire,  the  jolly  Rabelais. 
Tillier  is  the  legitimate  son  of  this  family,  and  his  po- 
lemical writings,  which  are  still  read  with  undiminished 
pleasure,  take  their  place  beside  the  pamphlets  of  Paul 
Louis  Courier.  The  two  countrymen  are  equals  in 
respect  to  fire  and  dash,  charming  nature  and  artistic 
skill,  wealth  of  sentiment  and  power  of  irony;  and,  if 
Tillier  is  sometimes  left  in  the  rear  by  his  predecessor 
in  the  matter  of  elegance  of  language  and  delicacy  of 
description,  he  excels  him  in  point  of  novelty  and 
spontaneity,  he  has  the  unexpected  turn  and  the  sur- 
prising metaphor.  Tillier  has  the  frank  expression, 
the  scent  of  the  country,  the  spicy  strength  of  the  peo- 
ple from  whom  he  sprang ;  his  style  overflows  with 
sap  and  force,  like  the  wild  tree  in  the  free  country. 
"  What  do  I  care,"  he  remarks  somewhere,  "  that  you 
call  a  simile  trivial,  if  it  is  only  correct  and  picturesque, 
if  it  only  embodies  the  idea  and  makes  it  tangible  to 
eye  and  ear?  A  fine  reason,  that,  to  refrain  from  the 
use  of  a  word  because  thirty  millions  of  others  use  it." 


284  APPENDIX. 

II. 

Better,  however,  than  any  biography  do  Tillier's 
writings  tell  us  who  and  what  he  was.  For  as  a  poet 
of  lyrical  feeling  and  plastic  power  he  weaves  his  life 
into  his  writings,  and  gives  us,  as  none  else,  himself  in 
every  line.  Nothing,  for  instance,  could  furnish  a 
more  realistic  picture  of  the  sufferings  and  struggles 
of  his  youth  than  the  following  description  of  his  life 
as  an  assistant  teacher : 

"  I  who  jest  and  laugh  with  you  have  passed  through 
life's  severest  trials.  I  was  pupil,  assistant  teacher,  sol- 
dier, and  schoolmaster.  With  these  employments  I  al- 
ways combined  that  of  the  poet.  The  corporal,  the 
school-director,  the  ill-bred  children,  the  tender  mothers, 
and  the  rhyme  were  my  five  inexorable  enemies  that  pur- 
sued me  incessantly.  .  .  .  Now  I  am  a  pamphleteer,  a 
pamphleteer  with  somewhat  pointed  tooth  and  nail  by 
whom  a  number  of  people  carry  scars,  but  I  shall  never 
say  anything  so  bad  of  society  as  it  has  done  to  me. 

"  Before  I  got  to  be  a  soldier,  I  was  an  assistant 
teacher.  But  of  all  serving  men  the  most  unfortunate 
is  without  doubt  the  assistant  of  a  boarding  school. 
With  terror  I  recall  the  miserable  state  of  mind  I  was 
in  when,  my  certificate  in'  my  pocket,  I  offered  my  ser- 
vices to  those  Latin  hucksters  of  the  capital  who  trade 
in  the  languages  of  Homer  and  Virgil.  ...  I  was 
nineteen  years  old ;  suffering  early  marked  me  out  for 
her  own,  and  I  could  not  without  great  difficulty  earn 
the  piece  of  bread  that  easily  falls  to  the  lot  of  every 
beggar.  During  four  weeks  I  wandered  through  the 
streets  of  Paris  with  my  grandmother ;  we  had  searched 


APPENDIX.  285 

the  farthest  suburbs,  we  had  knocked  at  the  doors  of 
all  institutions  known  to  the  guide-board  ;  but  the  good 
old  woman  might  say  as  often  as  she  would:  'Claude 
has  passed  through  all  the  grades,  and  in  philosophy  he 
even  stood  second  best '  —  in  vain  !  My  unfortunate 
nineteen  years  were  to  blame  that  I  was  everywhere 
left  on  the  hands  of  my  grandmother.  From  door  to 
door  we  were  turned  -away  with  thunder  tones :  '  We 
need  nobody.'  A  joking  principal  of  a  boarding  school 
even  pretended  to  consider  me  as  a  pupil  who  was 
being  brought  him.  Finally  my  grandmother  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  a  corner  for  me  in  an  institute,  Ave- 
nue de  Lamothe-Piquet.  The  excellent  institute  was 
situated  between  the  House  of  Invalids  and  the  Mili- 
tary Academy,  just  opposite  a  school  for  trained  dogs 
that  were  taught  to  fetch  and  carry  things  and  give  the 
paw." 

.  The  neighborhood  gave  rise  to  a  mistake  that  Claude 
relates  drolly  enough.  A  lady  who  was  looking  for  the 
dog  school  for  her  little  quadruped  was  mistaken  by  the 
master  of  the  institute  for  a  mother  who  wanted  to 
place  her  child  there. 

"  In  this  house,"  Tillier  continues,  "  I  had  my  wash- 
ing, board,  and  lodging  in  the  dormitory  of  the  pupils ; 
in  view  of  my  great  youth,  I  was  to  receive  no  salary  at 
the  beginning.  I  conducted  the  studies  and  recitations, 
I  watched  over  the  recreation  hours,  and  accompanied 
the  pupils  on  their  walks.  That  was  a  dearly  bought 
morsel  of  bread. 

"  The  proprietor  of  the  institute  had  nothing  to  prove 
himself  a  teacher  except  his  sign.  He  did  not  under- 
stand Latin,  not  even  thieves'  Latin.  In  order  to  con- 


286  APPENDIX. 

ceal  his  ignorance,  he  sought  to  gain  fame  as  a  savant ; 
to  that  end  he  published  "  The  Beauties  of  French  His- 
tory," and  was  now  engaged  on  the  historical  beauties 
of  other  nations.  This  sort  of  books  were  the  fashion 
at  that  time ;  every  nation  was  presented  with  the 
beauties  of  its  history  in  a  duodecimo  volume,  neither  a 
page  more  nor  less. 

"  There  are  persons  who  will  -make  a  fine  book  out 
of  one  good  page ;  there  are  others  who  cannot  get  up 
even  a  page  with  the  aid  of  a  whole  book.  Monsieur 
R.  belonged  to  the  latter.  He  was  one  of  those  spirit- 
ual journeymen  who  mutilate  rather  than  abbreviate, 
who  take  a  folio,  dissect  it,  throw  away  the  meat,  and 
keep  the  bones ;  one  of  those  scullions  of  literature  who, 
when  they  pare  an  apple,  leave  nothing  but  the  core. 
His  beauties  of  French  history  gave  him  the  right  to 
assume  the  title  of  a  writer,  a  title  that  served  that  of 
teacher  as  no  mean  armament.  He  passed  his  days  in 
the  public  libraries  in  the  preparation  of  extracts,  and 
his  evenings  in  the  salons  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Ger- 
main, where  he  was  admitted  in  consequence  of  the 
purity  of  his  royalism.  During  his  absence,  the  crown 
descended  to  the  female  line.  The  female  line  ruled  in 
the  person  of  Madame  R.,  a  red-haired,  pale-faced  Eng- 
lishwoman, who  had  a  skin  like  the  shell  of  a  turkey's 
egg,  or  like  white  satin  that  has  for  some  time  been 
exposed  to  the  indignities  of  flies.  The  pupils  liked 
her  very  much,  because  she  always  maintained  that  they 
were  right ;  the  assistant  teachers  despised  her  just  as 
much,  because  she  always  said  they  were  wrong. 

"  There  were  from  twenty  to  twenty-five  Englishmen 
in  the  institute  of  Monsieur  R.,  whom  Ins  wife  had 


APPENDIX.  287 

brought  as  her  dowry,  and  about  as  many  Frenchmen 
who  represented  his  share.  This  mixture  of  two  na- 
tionalities constituted  the  educational  system.  The 
Englishmen  of  the  wife  were  to  initiate  the  Frenchmen 
of  the  master  into  the  language  of  Byron  at  the  ball 
and  other  games ;  and  these  were  at  the  same  time  to 
teach  the  former  the  language  of  Racine.  In  conse- 
quence of  this  unfortunate  exchange,  the  substantives 
had  lost  their  articles,  the  adjectives  their  genders,  and 
the  verbs  their  conjugations.  There  arose  such  a  hodge- 
podge of  the  two  languages,  such  gibberish  that,  as  at 
the  tower  of  Babel,  no  one  any  longer  understood  his 
neighbor.  .  .  . 

"  During  the  first  days  that  I  passed  in  this  house  I 
felt  terribly  unhappy.  The  loss  of  liberty  was  intol- 
erable torture  to  me.  I  envied  secretly  the  boot-black 
who  went  by  the  windows  singing  and  whistling.  How 
gladly  would  I  have  exchanged  all  my  treasures  of 
wisdom  for  his  dirty  stool  and  his  black  hands  !  Some- 
times I  was  almost  choked  by  tears,  but  I  dared  not 
cry;  I  had  to  await  the  night  to  permit  myself  this 
luxury.  Often  I  said  to  myself:  Why  did  not  my 
father  teach  me  his  trade  ?  Then  I  should  have  all  I 
need :  bread  and  liberty ;  more  I  have  never  asked  for, 
and  here  I  have  neither  bread  nor  liberty.  The  good 
man  had  imagined  that  I  must  make  my  way  as  so 
many  others  with  the  help  of  the  education  that  he  had 
given  me ;  but  instead  of  gold  pieces  he  put  counters  in 
my  purse.  I  am  too  simple,  too  awkward,  too  ingenu- 
ous to  make  my  fortune  in  pedagogy.  Fortune  is  like 
the  tall  trees,  only  the  insect  that  creeps  or  the  bird 
that  flies  can  build  its  nest  on  them. 


288  APPENDIX. 

"However,  I  was  only  at  the  beginning  of  my 
troubles.  After  two  or  three  days  my  charges  had 
lost  all  respect  for  my  person.  The  two  nations  that 
had  daily  made  war  upon  each  other  made  a  truce, 
and  combined  themselves  against  me.  My  gray  dress 
coat  —  a  gray  dress  coat  which  the  best  tailor  of  my 
town  had  made  and  which  my  grandmother  had  said 
was  splendid  —  was  the  target  of  their  jests,  and  often 
even  of  their  missiles.  It  was  useless  to  punish  them 
for  it,  large  and  small  laughed  at  my  punishments; 
to  be  kept  after  school  was  recreation  to  them,  for  I  had 
to  preside.  Again,  and  again  I  was  tempted  to  take 
instant  and  summary  revenge  on  these  impudent  and, 
in  their  practical  jokes,  so  cruel  fellows.  But  if  I  were 
sent  away,  what  should  I  do  ?  How  should  I  meet  my 
parents,  who  believed  me  to  be  on  the  road  to  success  ? 
And  even  if  I  had  wished  to  come  to  this  decision,  how 
should  I  pay  my  seat  on  the  stage  coach  ?  I  was  liter- 
ally without  a  penny.  My  family  granted  me  a 
monthly  allowance  of  five  francs,  which  came  to  me 
through  my  grandmother ;  but  these  five  francs  I  had 
long  ago  spent  in  rolls  and  bretzels  that  I  ate  on  my 
walks,  for  I  was  always  hungry." 

But  at  last  poor  Tillier  lost  his  patience  anyway, 
and,  after  he  had  one  day  deservedly  whipped  an  inso- 
lent young  Englishman,  he  was  obliged  to  leave  the 
institute  in  the  fall  of  1820. 

"I  had  settled  with  Monsieur  R.,"  he  continues. 
"  There  were  still  coming  to  me  twenty-two  francs  and 
ten  centimes  which  he  gave  me.  They  leaped  into  my 
pocket.  My  traps  were  soon  together.  My  whole 
trunk  consisted  of  an  old  neckerchief  tied  together  by 


APPENDIX.  289 

the  four  corners,  and  contained  more  scribbled  paper 
than  linen.  An  old  stump  of  a  cigar  that  was  hidden 
in  my  pocket  came  accidentally  into  my  hands.  It 
seemed  to  me  becoming  to  depart  with  the  cigar  in  my 
mouth.  I  lit  it  in  the  kitchen  and  marched  proudly 
over  the  yard,  like  a  garrison  that  leaves  the  fortress 
all  covered  with  military  glory.  At  the  large  gate 
stood  a  boy  who  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some  one. 
This  young  pupil  had  been  my  neighbor  at  the  table  in 
the  workroom,  and  I  had  often  helped  him  in  his  tasks. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  me  coming,  he  came  running  up  to 
me  and  extended  some  square-looking  object  wrapped 
in  paper  to  me. 

" '  I  beg  you,  Monsieur  Claude,  take  this ;  it  is  vanilla 
chocolate.  I  know  you  have  not  earned  much  at 
Monsieur  R.'s.  That  will  make  a  few  breakfasts.  Do 
not  fear  you  are  robbing  me ;  Christmas  is  at  hand, 
mamma  will  give  me  some  more  chocolate,  and  per- 
haps nobody  will  give  anything  to  you.' 

"This  unexpected  manifestation  of  tender  affection 
embarrassed  me.  I  am  possessed  of  a  very  foolish  ex- 
citability, and  my  emotions,  once  aroused,  lack  all  self- 
control.  Instead  of  expressing  my  thanks  to  this  lov- 
able boy,  I  began  to  cry  like  a  donkey.  In  the  mean- 
time he  attempted  to  force  the  package  into  my  coat- 
pocket,  and  I — blinded  by  tears,  choked  by  sobs, 
unable  to  speak  —  tried  to  stay  his  hands,  but  in  vain. 
As  soon  as  the  chocolate  was  in  my  pocket,  the  dear 
little  rogue  took  his  flight  like  a  bird  that  is  chased 
from  one  bush  into  another.  A  short  distance  from  me 
he  stopped : 

'"Monsieur  Claude,'  he  cried,  'if  you  will  promise 


290  APPENDIX. 

me  to  keep  the  chocolate,  I  will  come  to  you  again ;  I 
have  something  more  to  say  to  you.' 

" '  O  dear  little  fellow,  I  promise  you,  I  will  always 
keep  it  in  memory  of  our  friendship.' 

"  He  came  back  and  took  both  my  hands. 

"  '  Now  you  must  promise  me  further  that  you  will 
let  me  know  what  institute  you  will  enter.  I  don't 
like  Monsieur  R.,  because  he  is  a  royalist,  nor  Madame 
R.,  because  she  is  an  Englishwoman ;  but  you  I  loved 
from  the  first  hour,  I  don't  know  why,  and  I  will  en- 
treat mamma  so  long  to  take  me  to  you  until  she  con- 
sents.' 

" '  Well,  my  child,  I  will  promise  you  also  that.' 

"  And  as  I  took  my  hands  out  of  his,  I  fled  to  the 
street,  for  I  felt  that  I  was  again  to  be  overcome  by 
crying.  At  some  distance  I  saw  my  friend  standing  on 
the  terrace.  He  was  looking  after  me  with  eyes  that 
were  surely  filled  with  tears. 

"Afterward  I  forgot  this  child.  I  was  unfeeling 
enough  to  eat  his  chocolate  without  notifying  him  of  the 
institute  I  had  entered.  I  have  forgotten  him,  as  the 
wanderer  forgets  the  tree  under  which  he  rested  for  a 
moment  on  his  journey  through  the  desert.  This  poor, 
deceased  love,  here  it  lies  in  a  corner  of  my  heart  under 
some  rose-colored  crape ;  for  it  is  the  fate  of  man  to 
forget.  At  the  bottom  of  every  human  heart  lies,  ah ! 
a  little  heap  of  ashes  and  dross.  Our  soul  is  a  church- 
yard full  of  graves  and  inscriptions,  a  bed  where 
young  blossoms  strike  their  roots  in  dead  flowers. 
Oblivion  is  a  blessing  of  God,  for  if  man,  while  round 
about  him  all  is  changing  and  passing  away,  had  not 
the  faculty  of  oblivion,  he  would  be  the  unhappiest 


APPENDIX.  291 

of  all  creatures,  his  life  would  be  one  perpetual  pain, 
and  his  eye  an  inexhaustible  well  of  tears." 

The  sorrows  of  the  assistant  are  followed  by  the 
tortures  of  the  schoolmaster.  The  vivid  description  of 
them  furnishes  at  .the  same  time  an  intimation  of  the 
struggles  Tillier  had  to  wage  with  the  clergy.  He 
writes : 

"Which  of  us  earns  the  more  honest  bread,  you 
bishops  or  we  schoolmasters  ?  In  the  midst  of  a  troop 
of  children  from  morn  till  night  who  yelp  like  a  pack 
of  hounds,  we  wrack  ourselves  to  set  in  motion  the 
cumbersome,  rusty  machine  called  the  school,  and 
spend  our  energy,  like  the  wood-chopper  who  drives 
a  wedge  into  a  block  of  wood,  by  forcing  letters  and 
syllables  into  the  hard  heads  of  children,  and  ruin  our 
health  by  repeating  tiresome  explanations  a  hundred 
times.  The  poor  road-mender  can  put  aside  his  shovel 
for  a  moment  in  order  to  press  the  hand  of  an  old 
acquaintance  who  is  passing  along;  the  brick-layer  on 
the  scaffolding  turns  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the 
street  and  looks  a  long  time  after  a  girl  whom  he  has 
given  a  friendly  nod ;  the  locksmith,  while  pulling  up 
and  down  his  bellows,  dreams  of  his  home  and  of  the 
day  of  his  return ;  the  tailor,  sewing  his  coat,  discovers 
in  a  fold  of  the  cloth  a  merry  song  that  he  hums  again 
and  again,  as  the  peasant  jingles  a  gold  piece  that  he 
wishes  to  test.  But  we,  we  must  stand  guard  over  our 
head  like  a  sentinel  over  his  post ;  we  must  inexorably 
turn  away  from  us  every  dream,  every  memory,  every 
wish;  we  must  see  and  speak  at  the  same  time,  restrain 
this  one,  spur  on  that  one,  preserve  order  here,  call  out 
the  spirit  of  industry  there ;  in  short,  we  must  do  the 


292  APPENDIX. 

work  of  three.  Some  of  us  are  magnificently  gifted, 
but  if  their  'spirit  wishes  to  soar  into  higher  regions, 
they  must  nail  their  pinions  to  the  desk ;  they  have  a 
golden  tool  and  must  break  stones  with  it.  And  you, 
you  bishops,  what  are  you  doing  meanwhile?  You 
preach  from  your  pulpit,  you  promenade  like  little  gods 
under  a  canopy,  you  let  Levites  flatter  you,  or  you  even 
banish  some  old  priest  out  of  his  congenial  parish. 
For  this  arduous  labor  the  government  pays  you  ten 
thousand  francs  a  year,  but  you  are  not  of  the  kind  to 
content  yourself  with  anything  so  small.  You  make  a 
journey  every  year,  and  when  you  have  travelled  a 
hundred  miles  or  so,  you  return,  weary  and  exhausted, 
into  your  palace  to  rest  yourself,  and  for  this  toilsome 
trouble  you  ask  no  less  than  two  thousand  francs' 
'  travelling  fees,'  Ah !  how  many  of  us  would  count 
themselves  overhappy  if  they  received  for  the  hard 
labor  of  a  year  only  one-half  of  what  you  earn  in  eight 
days  by  breakfasting,  dining,  and  triumphal  proces- 
sions. 

"  Do  you  perhaps  claim  that  your  abilities  merit  such 
grand  rewards?  But  who  tells  you  that  a  bishop 
requires  more  brains  than  a  schoolmaster?  A  good 
teacher  must  know  everything,  even  a  little  theology; 
but  a  bishop,  what  does  he  need  to  know  except  a 
little  theology  ?  Honestly,  don't  you  think  something 
more  is  needed  for  a  good  arithmetician  or  a  good 
grammarian  than  for  the  manufacture  of  holy  oils? 
I  will  wager  that  the  person  of  Monsieur  Dupin  con- 
tains enough  material  fur  ten  bishops ;  but  I  deny  that 
a  single  schoolmaster  could  be  made  out  of  him.  Or 
do  you  even  claim  that  the  size  of  your  salary  is  deter- 


APPENDIX.  293 

mined  by  the  utility  of  your  works?  This  would  be  a 
second  self-delusion ;  in  this  respect  also  've  have  the 
advantage.  For  four  months  the  diocese  was  without  a 
bishop,  and  nobody  noticed  it.  The  bells  tolled,  masses 
were  read,  women  went  to  confession  now  as  before ; 
there  was  only  a  priest  less  in  the  city,  and  since  the 
return  of  His  Eminence  there  is  one  more,  that  is  all. 
But  if  the  diocese  should  be  four  months  without  a 
schoolmaster,  do  you  think  that  would  be  immaterial, 
too?  Do  not,  therefore,  reproach  us  again  by  saying 
that  we  give  instruction  to  earn  money,  for,  you  see, 
we  are  capable  of  answering  you." 

III. 

In  the  following  picture  of  Dupin,  Tillier  furnishes 
splendid  proof  of  the  power  of  his  pen  and  the  penetra- 
tion of  his  thought.  When  he  sketched  it  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  forties,  this  professional  renegade  stood  in 
the  zenith  of  his  glory  and  was  the  idol  of  the  depart- 
ment. To-day  nobody  any  longer  doubts  the  likeness 
of  the  picture : 

"Verily,  I  say  to  you,  Monsieur  Dupin,  there  is  a 
certain  species  of  egotism  that  would  even  make  a  great 
man  ridiculous :  namely,  that  shameless  and  garrulous 
egotism  that  forever  and  ever  prates  of  itself,  that 
would  monopolize  the  attention  of  the  entire  world, 
and  write  its  name  upon  every  wall.  You,  Monsieur 
Dupin,  are  the  most  perfect  type  of  this  sort  of  egotism. 
You  love  money,  you  love  it  with  a  measureless  passion, 
you  love  it  as  well  as  the  law  permits  it  to  be  loved* 
and  yet  there  is  one  thing  that  you  love  still  more,  and 
the  more  so  the  more  it  is  denied  you,  and  that  thing 


294  APPENDIX. 

is  popularity.  As  the  people  fail  you,  you  have  made 
yourself  a  people  out  of  the  bourgeoisie.  You  need 
people  who  are  well-dressed,  well-shaven,  well-brushed, 
well-polished,  and  who  continually  run  up  and  down 
stairs.  You  need  newspapers  that  are  forever  on  the 
alert  and  exclaim  every  moment :  '  O,  the  great  man  ! ' 
To  live  obscurely  would  mean  to  you  not  to  live.  If 
one  should  discover  some  luminous  article  that  could 
shed  its  radiance  over  a  circumference  of  from  two  to 
three  miles,  you  would  have  to  get  a  piece  of  it  for  a 
wide  dress-coat,  and  if  every  yard  should  cost  a  law- 
suit. 

"  You  have  an  insatiable  craving  to  shine.  Wherever 
there  are  compliments  to  reap,  you  rush  in  instantly. 
There  can  be  no  festivity  in  Clamecy  but  what  you  ap- 
pear, clad  in  your  wide  dress-coat,  majestically  escorted 
by  firemen.  Should  the  king  of  Monaco  attend  one  of 
these  ostentatious  festivities,  he  could  but  exclaim : 
'  Upon  my  honor,  if  I  were  not  king  of  Monaco,  I  would 
be  Monsieur  Dupin  ! ' 

"  Certain  simple  folks  imagine  that  }TOU  harbor  an 
implacable  hatred  against  me  who  committed  the  blas- 
phemy of  defaming  your  great  name,  that  hatred  which 
never  vanishes,  but,  like  the  dagger  of  the  savage, 
eternally  preserves  its  poison.  These  people  do  not 
know  you.  Your  mortal  enemy,  Monsieur  Dupin,  is 
he  who  appears  not  to  notice  your  importance  and  who 
basely  curtails  you  of  the  required  attention.  You 
would  much  rather  hear  it  said:  'This  is  Monsieur 
Dupin,  the  lickspittle,  the  counsel  of  all  abuses,  the 
defender  of  all  wrongs;  Monsieur  Dupin,  the  turncoat, 
who  deserted  the  camp  of  the  people  under  a  great 


APPENDIX.  295 

flourish  of  trumpets' — than,  'Who  is  this  old  gentle- 
man?' 

"  You  have  that  voracious  appetite  for  flattery  which, 
without  nicety  of  choice,  devours  everything  that  is 
thrown  at  it :  you  think  more  of  quantity  than  quality. 
It  would  require  large  bells  to  execute  the  serenade 
that  would  truly  delight  you.  There  is  a  shoemaker  in 
Clamecy,  a  ridiculous  poetaster  whom  everybody  de- 
rides. Nine  out  of  every  ten  lines  of  the  doggerel 
which  the  lame  muse  of  this  Apollo  of  the  last  welds 
together  are  addressed  to  the  great  Dupin,  'the  king  of 
orators.'  While  awaiting  your  return,  he  has  always  a 
poem  on  his  last  and  a  wreath  in  his  tub.  And  you, 
the  academician,  who  are  accustomed,  moreover,  to  the 
gilded  flatteries  of  the  court,  you  pride  yourself  with 
this  crown  as  if  it  were  of  roses'  and  laurels.  The  fetid 
incense  that  he  wafts  towards  you  is  sweet  perfume  to 
you ;  you  wear  the  disgraceful  mark  of  his  praises  on 
your  forehead  as  if  it  were  the  most  precious  jewel  of 
popularity.  And  to  complete  the  bargain  you  send  him 
your  addresses  for  his  pathos !  .  .  . 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  you  are,  Monsieur  Dupin : 
above  all  you  are  a  Dupinian.  You  belong  to  no  party, 
you  resemble  those  marshes  between  two  rivers  that 
are  neither  land  nor  water,  but  treacherous  quicksand. 
You  may  now  throw  aside  your  honest  man's  mask ; 
your  hypocritical  sturdiness  no  longer  deceives  any  one. 
You  are  not  the  peasant  of  the  Morvan,  you  are  the 
fawner  upon  ministers  at  court.  You  take  off  your 
iron-bound  faced  shoes  in  order  to  walk  on  the  polished 
floors  of  the  salons.  You  are  a  lion  that  offers  his 
paw. 


296  APPENDIX. 

"  You  were  a  liberal  when  you  were  young,  if  you 
really  ever  were  young.  But  liberty  was  only  a  poor 
grisette,  who  lavished  all  the  wealth  of  her  love  on  you 
while  you  were  plotting  a  marriage  for  money  with  a 
lady  of  high  degree,  royalty.  Had  the  Restoration 
lasted  longer,  you  would  have  turned  to  her.  Half 
bourgeois,  half  nobleman,  half  prelate,  half  minister,  we 
should  have  seen  you  figure  in  a  ministry  of  reconcilia- 
tion. The  Restoration  was  awaiting  you.  .  .  . 

"You  have  in  turn  attacked  and  defended  the  same 
people.  You  danced  now  on  the  right  foot,  now  on 
the  left.  You  placed  yourself  as  a  hyphen  between 
progress  and  the  reaction.  You  expected  people  would 
regard  your  instability  of  principle  as  a  sign  of  inde- 
pendence of  character,  and  say :  '  Monsieur  Dupin  rec- 
ognizes no  master  save  his  own  conscience ;  lie  extols 
the  good  and  rebukes  evil  wherever  he  meets  it,  regard- 
less of  party.'  But  the  art  of  your  dissimulation  wore 
too  clumsy  galoches  to  sneak  in  unawares,  and  people 
simply  said:  'Monsieur  Dupin  wishes  to  enjoy  at  one 
and  the  same  time  the  rewards  of  servility  and  the 
honors  of  independence.'  From  time  to  time  you  antag- 
onized the  ministers,  but  your  opposition  was  so  gentle 
that  it  reminded  me  of  the  tactics  of  your  old  school- 
master, who  used  to  punish  his  favorite  pupils  with  a 
goose-quill.  It  reminded  me  of  the  valorous  deeds  of 
those  bears  which,  trained  to  sham-fighting,  seize  the 
dogs  of  their  masters  between  their  paws  as  if  they 
would  crush  them,  and  suffer  them  to  run  away  after 
pulling  out  a  few  hairs. 

"  No,  if  I  were  the  electorate,  I  should  not  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  a  delegate  who  occupies  two  seats.  I 


APPENDIX.  297 

should  say  to  you  :  '  Monsieur  Dupin,  are  }rou  the  friend, 
the  foe,  or  the  accomplice  of  the  government  ?  You  do 
not  wish  to  submit  your  creed  in  order  not  to  limit 
your  independence?  Well,  then,  Monsieur  Dupin, 
you  remain  mayor  of  Gacogne ! ' 

"You  have  exerted  a  lamentable  influence  on  the 
district  of  Clamecy,  Monsieur  Dupin.  Your  protection 
has  killed  every  noble  aspiration  in  its  shadow.  Our 
young  people  got  to  be  calculating  old  men  in  their 
twentieth  year.  We  came  to  be  accustomed  not  to 
engage  in  any  political  work  without  first  asking  our- 
selves what  you,  the  public  conscience  of  the  district, 
would  say  of  it.  The  fear  of  incurring  your  ill-will 
and  the  hope  of  winning  your  applause  have  been  our 
sole  guide  for  ten  years.  You  have  raised  'among  us 
the  most  pernicious  spirit  of  selfishness  and  intrigue. 
Out  of  our  honest  fat  ciphers  you  have  made  State  par- 
asites and  office  seekers.  Blockheads  were  sent  to 
high  schools  because  in  the  mist  of  the  future  people 
discerned  your  hand,  ready  to  guide  and  to  provide. 
People  married  the  daughters  of  your  servants,  in  order 
to  gain  your  protection  as  dowry,  and  }TOU  paid  the 
dowry.  Your  recommendation  took  the  place  of  ac- 
quired rights  and  replaced  virtue  and  capacity.  Integ- 
rity that  appeared  without  your  marginal  notes  was 
basely  turned  away  from  the  door.  The  talent  that 
your  fingers  did  not  plant  on  a  candlestick  was  suffered 
to  miserably  perish  under  the  bushel.  You  were 
looked  upon  as  the  providence  of  the  town.  Favors, 
official  positions,  advantages,  everything  came  to  us 
out  of  your  hands.  Presently  we  should  have  en- 
treated you  for  rain  and  sunshine;  and  if  you  had 


298  APPENDIX. 

wanted  an  altar  in  the  church  of  Clameay,  the  common 
council  would  have  built  two  for  you. 

"  But  what  use  have  you  made  of  your  influence, 
Monsieur  Dupin?  How  have  you  distributed  your 
favors  among  the  crowd  of  petitioners  who  daily  made 
a  show  of  their  pretended  misery  before  your  door,  and 
whom  I  used  to  call  the  poor  of  Monsieur  Dupin  ?  It 
is  just  as  if  you  had  intentionally  selected  the  very 
worst.  Let  us  look  at  some  of  your  favorites  at  ran- 
dom. There  is,  for  instance, — -but,  no !  You  would 
make  me  run  the  gauntlet  of  your  laws,  which  in  cer- 
tain cases  punish  truth  for  libel.  .  .  . 

"This  revolution — that  was  taking  place  by  your 
side,  without  you,  and  perhaps  in  spite  of  you — you 
Lave  despoiled  of  the  better  part  of  the  booty,  washed 
it  clean  of  blood,  and  distributed  it  among  your  creat- 
ures. O,  Monsieur  Dupin,  will  we  be  burdened  much 
longer  by  the  public  calamity  of  your  influence?  I 
think  not.  Since  your  last  address,  you  have  terribly 
fallen  off.  You  are  no  longer  anything  but  a  smoking 
wick.  There  is  already  a  certain  odor  of  the  peerage 
about  you.  On  the  day  when  the  miserable  cry : 
*  Monsieur  Dupin  will  be  a  peer,  Monsieur  Dupin  is  a 
peer ' '  echoes  through  the  district  like  a  thunderclap, 
there  will  be  an  end  of  you.  You  are  not  the  man  who 
can  make  a  weapon  out  of  his  quill  when  the  platform 
is  taken  from  you.  Your  speech  is  good  at  one  time 
and  bad  at  another ;  but  if  your  tongue  should  be  cut 
out,  what  would  remain  of  your  person?  A  demone- 
tized gold  coin  still  retains  the  greater  part  of  its  value, 
but  a  depreciated  assignat,  what  is  that  worth,  Mon- 
sieur Dupin?  In  ten  years,  when  our  young  people 


APPENDIX.  299 

will  ask  about  the  Monsieur  Dupin  who  made  such  a 
noise  in  the  district,  they  will  find  nothing  but  an  old 
pettifogger." 

IV. 

What  could  better  reveal  the  magnanimity  of  the 
poet  and  the  integrity  of  the  poor  man  that  Tillier 
possessed  in  so  eminent  a  degree  than  the  following 
passage : 

"  There  is  unfortunately  no  law  against  corruption ; 
undisputed  we  must  suffer  this  public  calamity  to  scat- 
ter down  on  our  cities  the  infectious  miasma  out  of  its 
wide  pinions.  ...  If  a  soldier  should  deliver  into  the 
hands  of  the  Prussians  the  poorest  hamlet  on  your 
boundary,  he  would  be  sentenced  to  a  shameful  death ; 
but  the  scoundrels  who,  to  gratify  their  greed,  sell  our 
liberties,  violate  our  contracts,  and  hold  the  nation  by 
the  throat  while  it  is  being  placed  in  fetters  are  re- 
warded with  positions  of  honor  and  wealth  untold. 
According  to  what  rule  do  you  judge  of  human  ac- 
tions ?  If  treason,  instead  of  a  gorget,  wears  a  stand-up 
collar,  and  a  pen  behind  the  ear  instead  of  a  sword  by 
the  side,  does  it  then  cease  to  be  treason  ?  Does  crime, 
by  merely  changing  coats,  become  a  virtue?  A  few 
moss-grown  boundary  stones  —  are  they  of  greater 
value  in  your  sight  than  the  law  of  the  land? 

"But  however  base  we  esteem  venality  in  general, 
the  basest  is  that  of  the  writer.  Those  who  have  a 
voice  strong  enough  to  make  themselves  heard  by  the 
masses  are  the  natural  champions  of  the  noble  cause. 
G)d  has  loosened  their  tongue  and  commanded  them  to 
preach  the  service  of  liberty.  If  they  prove  false  to 


300  APPENDIX. 

their  sacred  calling,  if  they,  like  wicked  shepherds, 
lead  their  flocks  to  the  shambles,  they  deserve  all  the 
contempt  of  which  a  human  soul  is  capable.  That  is 
just  as  if  the  light-house  were  to  desert  the  coast  that 
it  ought  to  point  out  to  the  storm-tossed  ship  and  sta- 
tion itself  on  a  cliff.  I  am  one  of  the  least  of  those 
who  write  for  the  people  ;  I  wield  only  a  wren's  quill ; 
but  God  forbid  that  I  should  ever  sell  it  to  our  op- 
pressors !  O,  no !  and  if  hunger  with  his  iron  fingers 
should  tug  at  my  vitals,  I  would  not  so  degrade  myself. 
If  I  must  beg  my  bread,  it  shall  at  least  not  be  in  the 
ante-chambers  of  the  ministers.  Rather  would  I  recite 
my  pamphlets  from  door  to  door  and  hold  out  my  hand 
to  those  who  have  a  heart  for  liberty  and  the  people. 
And  surely  calmer  dreams  would  visit  me  on  my  straw 
than  many  another  on  his  silken  couch. 

"  Between  the  icy  steppes  of  poverty  and  the  weari- 
some Eden  of  wealth  where  heaven  eternally  reflects 
the  same  blue  and  the  earth  the  same  green  lies  a  tem- 
perate zone  where  want  and  superfluity  alike  are  un- 
known. Here  the  soil  yields  nothing  to  the  weakling 
who  will  not  till  it ;;  but  whoever  digs  a  furrow  is  sure 
of  a  rich  harvest.  Under  these  changeful  skies  there 
are  indeed  gloomy  and  rainy  days,  but  often  also  the  sun 
smiles  mildly  and  gloriously  through  the  lifts  of  the 
clouds.  Here  I  have  pitched  my  modest  tent  between 
two  blooming  bushes.  I  am  perfectly  contented  on  this 
spot,  and  have  no  desire  to  leave  it.  My  wants  are 
few  and  my  stomach  is  small.  Since  a  little  rib  is  suffi- 
cient to  fill  it,  why  should  I  mortgage  myself  to  a 
butcher  in  order  to  have  a  leg  ?  .  .  .  Great  ladies  I  do 
not  frequent,  my  dress  costs  me  very  little  conse- 


APPENDIX.  301 

quently,  and  theirs  costs  me  nothing  at  all.  I  hold 
that  a  garment  in  the  closet  does  not  serve  as  clothing, 
and  so  my  entire  wardrobe  consists  of  a  great  coat  of 
agreeable  thickness  for  winter  and  of  a  thin  coat  for 
the  mild  days  of  the  pleasant  season.  I  try  to  make 
these  garments  last  as  long  as  possible ;  and  it  con- 
cerns me  very  little  if  fashion  looks  at  me  askance 
when  I  meet  her.  My  respect  does  not  suffer  thereby 
among  those  who  know  me,  and  the  rest  may  think 
what  they  like  about  it.  When  I  am  saluted,  I  can  at 
least  feel  assured  that  the  salute  is  not  meant  for  my 
coat.  .  .  . 

"  Should  you  appeal  to  my  fatherly  feelings,  I  will 
answer  you  that  I  love  my  children  with  all  my  heart, 
but  that  I  cannot  sell  my  conscience  in  order  to  enrich 
them.  Besides,  I  have  not  placed  them  in  the  world 
that  they  should  grow  rich ;  it  would  vex  me  if  they 
should.  Their  cradle  was  made  of  willows,  and  it  is 
not  necessary  that  their  death-bed  should  be  carved  of 
mahogany.  We  Tilliers,  we  are  made  of  the  hard, 
knotty  wood  of  which  the  poor  people  are  made.  My 
two  grandfathers  were  poor,  my  father  was  poor,  I  am 
poor;  my  children  shall  not  depart  from  their  kind. 
If  my  son  should  take  a  notion  to  accumulate  wealth, 
my  enraged  shade  would  rise  up  before  him  and  throw 
his  money-bags  out  of  the  window.  And  do  not  im- 
agine I  am  exaggerating  ;  for  I  tell  you  :  the  lame  old 
cobbler  who  mends  shoes  in  yonder  street  corner  and 
whom  you  despise  earns  his  bread  more  honestly  than 
the  loftiest  plumed  crest  among  our  great  lords  or  the 
weightiest  money-bug  among  our  skilful  financiers. 

"  And,  moreover,  why  should  I  trouble  myself  about 


802  APPENDIX. 

the  lot  of  my  children  ?  When  my  last  coughing  fit 
has  come,  when  my  quill  together  with  my  soul  has 
returned  to  God,  will  the  sun  darken  then  and  the 
earth  cease  growing  green  ?  The  All-Father  who  sup- 
plies the  young  of  the  birds  with  food,  will  he  deny  it 
to  the  little  ones  of  the  pamphleteer  ?  My  parents 
gave  me  nothing,  and  I  am  grateful  to  them  for  it ;  had 
they  given  me  much,  I  should  perhaps  not  dare  to  sign 
their  name  to  my  pamphlets.  When  I  left  the  paternal 
roof,  I  had  not  even  a  calling.  I  fell  into  this  world 
like  a  leaf  that  the  storm  shakes  from  the  tree  and 
rolls  along  the  highway.  But  I  did  not  lose  courage : 
I  always  hoped  that  out  of  the  wings  of  some  bird 
sweeping  the  skies  a  quill  would  fall  down,  fitted  to  my 
fingers,  and  I  have  not  been  disappointed.  The  rich 
man  is  a  plant  that  springs  from  the  earth  full-grown 
in  leaf  and  flower.  I  was  a  poor  grain  cast  among 
thorns;  with  bleeding  head  I  raised  the  hard  shells 
that  were  oppressing  me  and  forced  my  way  towards 
the  sun.  Why  should  not  the  modest  blades  that  I 
leave  on  my  root-stalk  grow  as  I  grew?  Instead  of 
selling  myself  to  the  powerful,  I  made  war  upon  those 
who  sold  themselves  to  them,  and  I  do  not  regret  it. 
That  is,  after  all,  the  best  road  to  an  honorable  grave. 
Of  that  I  am  convinced ;  and  if  this  my  pamphleteer's 
quill  should  grow  out  of  my  grave,  and  my  son  had 
the  cunning  to  use  it,  I  should  urge  him  to  grasp  it, 
even  if  he  should  meet  a  prison  in  the  middle  of  his 
course.  When  one  can  say  to  himself :  the  oppressor 
fears  you  and  the  oppressor  puts  his  trust  in  you  — 
that  is  the  noblest  riches,  riches  for  which  I  would 
willingly  give  all  else. 


APPENDIX.  303 

"And  of  what  avail  if  I,  like  those  gentlemen,  were 
one  of  the  most  important  philistines  in  my  small 
town  ?  A  fine  honor  to  be  the  thickest  stalk  of  aspara- 
gus in  a  bunch  or  the  largest  radish  in  a  basket-full ! 
I  cannot  walk  on  stilts,  and  in  order  to  rise  above  the 
heads  of  the  rest,  I  will  not  get  on  a  muck-heap.  Who- 
ever desires  to  be  proud  must  at  least  know  why ;  but 
these  philistines  who  with  their  thick  paunches  put  on 
such  great  airs,  what  are  they  proud  of  ?  They  do  not 
know  it  themselves,  and  those  who  take  off  their  hats 
so  slavishly  before  them  do  not  know  it  either.  These 
gentlemen  despise  the  people  and  consider  themselves 
therefore  as  half  noblemen;  but  they  are  only  butter- 
flies that  despise  caterpillars.  .  .  . 

"  And,  moreover,  man  is  not  born  alone  to  live,  but 
also  to  die.  Who  of  us  would  riot  cast  a  glance  be- 
hind the  dark  curtain  that  brings  our  existence  to  a 
close  ?  All  that  dies  leaves  a  trace  of  its  life :  when 
the  wind  is  dispersed  in  space,  the  leaves  still  tremble 
which  it  has  kissed ;  when  the  wild  thyme  is  crushed 
between  the  great  jaws  of  the  ox,  it  still  leaves  its  fra- 
grance in  the  meadow  for  a  time  ;  when  the  string  of 
a  violin  snaps  asunder  under  the  rude  strokes  of  the 
bow,  its  vibrating  ends  still  emit  a  sibilant  sound.  But 
all  the  people  who  bartered  away  their  conscience  — 
when  the  last  sound  of  the  bells  that  toll  them  to  the 
grave  has  died  away ;  when  the  silver-paper  tears  that 
have  been  shed  over  them  are  laid  away  in  their  bier ; 
when  the  smoke  of  the  thundering  guns  that  offer  the 
last  salute  to  what  is  mortal  in  them  has  cleared  away, 
—  what  remains  of  them?  A  disgraceful  memory  and 
a  dishonored  name,  something  like  the  stench  that  sur- 


804  APPENDIX. 

vives  an  extinguished  candle.  After  their  flatterers 
will  come  the  people  whom  they  have  betrayed,  and 
spit  on  their  tomb.  But  I,  if  I  have  neither  a  marble 
slab  nor  gilded  letters  on  my  coffin,  I  wish  at  least  that 
the  modest  hillock  that  shall  cover  it  may  spread  a 
sweet  perfume ;  and,  haply,  when  a  pious  duty  shall 
lead  the  friend  of  liberty  into  the  garden  of  the  dead, 
he  will  go  a  few  graves  farther  and  salute  my 
shade."  .  .  . 

And  again : 

"The  name  pamphleteer  that  you  hurl  at  me  as 
something  opprobrious,  I  take  it  up  and  wear  it  as  a 
badge  of  honor.  To  tell  people  the  truth  is,  notwith- 
standing all  your  talk,  a  noble  calling.  What  does  it 
concern  me  if  a  couple  of  old  crickets  and  two  or  three 
barnbeetles  that  have  lost  their  teeth  angrily  buzz  at 
me  in  their  little  rage  ?  I  am  conscious  of  having  put 
to  good  use  what  small  portion  of  reason  God  gave  me. 
I  am  rather  at  peace  with  myself  than  with  others,  and 
my  self-respect  is  of  greater  value  to  me  than  that  of  a 
whole  troop  of  jackanapes  who  neither  know  nor  under- 
stand me. 

"  With  what  can  they  reproach  me  as  a  writer  ?  I 
have  always  taken  the  part  of  the  weak  against  the 
strong ;  I  have  always  lived  beneath  the  tattered  tents 
of  the  conquered  and  slept  by  their  hard  bivouac.  It  is 
true,  I  have  cancelled  a  number  of  too  pompous  adjec- 
tives which  certain  names  had  appropriated  to  them- 
selves; and  now  and  then  I  have  also  pricked  the 
bubble  of  some  bloated  self-conceit.  But  the  persons 
whom  I  have  treated  so  were  on  the  side  of  the  enemy, 
and  I  had  a  right  to  explode  their  airs.  I  did  not 


APPENDIX.  305 

violate  the  law  of  war  against  them ;  and  if  they  com- 
plain about  me,  it  is  just  as  if  an  old  soldier  of  the 
empire  should  complain  because  he  was  wounded  at 
Austerlitz  by  a  Frenchman.  Call  it  personalities  — 
what  of  it?  Every  one  has  his  own  way  of  making 
war :  the  others  shoot  into  the  masses  at  half  the  height 
of  a  man ;  but  I  select  my  man  and  take  a  good  aim. 
But  if  a  plumed  crest  happens  to  pass  by  my  door,  I 
always  give  him  the  preference. 

"  My  name  is  lost  among  the  many  which  the  great 
city  daily  rolls  in  its  wide  mouth ;  but  nevertheless  I 
flatter  myself  that  my  pen  is  not  useless.  The  hedge  is 
low,  and  its  branches  hang  into  the  grass;  but  with  its 
thorns  it  pricks  the  wrong-doer  who  would  trespass 
upon  strange  premises ;  its  wild  flowers  it  gives  to  the 
shepherdess  who  passes  by  the  way,  and  the  little  birds 
build  their  nest  with  security  in  its  branches.  I  would 
rather  be  a  law-protecting  hedge  than  a  tall  useless  tree. 
A  shameful  employment,  that  of  the  penny-a-liner  who 
sells  to  the  powers  that  be  an  old  duster  of  a  quill  with 
which  no  scrub  woman  would  sweep  away  the  ashes  in 
the  stove,  and  who  for  a  handful  of  money  lives  a  life 
of  falsehood  and  lies.  I  should  indeed  not  like  to  be  in 
his  place. 

"  I  am,  then,  a  writer  of  pamphlets ;  but  am  I  indeed 
so  godless  as  the  black-coated  gentry  would  like  to 
have  their  pious  souls  believe?  According  to  their 
religion,  may  be ;  but  not  according  to  the  religion  of 
God.  Would  the  supreme  judge,  if  I  were  to  appear 
before  his  tribunal  to-morrow,  have  so  very  much  to 
hold  up  against  me?  I  did  not  fill  my  hands  with 
gold ;  I  did  not  sell  my  thoughts.  I  gave  them  to  the 


306  APPENDIX. 

people,  whole  and  unalloyed,  as  the  tree  gives  them  its 
fruits.  I  took  my  daily  bread  out  of  God's  hand,  with- 
out ever  asking  for  more.  If  this  bread  is  black,  I  do 
not  complain ;  if  it  is  white,  I  eat  it  with  a  good  appe- 
tite ;  but  black  or  white,  I  never  let  anything  remain 
over  for  the  coming  day.  I  go  straight  ahead,  without 
looking  backwards  or  forwards ;  only  the  stone  before 
my  feet  I  seek  to  avoid,  and  in  this,  too,  I  do  not 
always  succeed.  If  I  see  some  weed  on  my  way,  I  pull 
it  up  by  the  roots ;  if  I  find  a  good  grain,  I  dig  a  hole 
in  the  earth  and  plant  it  there;  if  it  does  not  come 
forth  for  me,  it  will  yet  grow  for  some  one  else.  I  do 
as  the  butterfly  that  enjoys  itself  during  the  summer 
without  thinking  of  the  winter,  and  that  does  not  dream 
of  building  itself  a  nest  for  the  few  days  it  will  remain 
on  earth.  I  advise  my  children  to  do  as  I  do.  I  will 
them  my  example :  that  is,  after  all,  the  best  riches,  for 
which  they  will  at  least  not  have  to  pay  any  inheritance 
tax.  I  do  not  pray,  for  the  reason  that  God  knows 
better  than  I  what  he  must  do ;  because  I  might  ask 
things  of  him  that  would  not  be  good  for  me;  and 
because  without  our  asking  he  lets  the  sun  rise  every 
morning  and  the  earth  bring  forth  fruit  and  herbs 
every  year,  for,  if  he  has  created  us,  he  is  also  bound 
to  care  for  our  maintenance.  He  cannot  be  like  those 
wretched  fathers  who  place  their  children  before  the 
doors  of  foundling  hospitals.  Nor  do  I  adore  him, 
because  he  does  not  need  adoration,  and  the  worship 
that  the  masses  offer  him  is  nothing  but  the  flattery  of 
selfish  creatures  who  want  to  enter  paradise.  But  if  I 
have  a  penny  to  spare,  I  give  it  to  the  poor. 

"  I  have  said  what  I  am ;  may  those  now  who  call  me 


APPENDIX.  807 

godless  tell  us  just  as  sincerely  what  they  are,  and  we 
shall  soon  see  that  they  are  less  religious  than  I." 

V. 

Nothing  can  give  us  a  better  idea  of  the  fortitude 
and  strength  of  soul  of  the  poor  sufferer  than  the  fol- 
lowing passage,  full  of  mockery  and  resignation,  with 
which  Tillier  laughed  death  in  the  face.  The  Mon- 
sieur Gaume  mentioned  here  is  an  abbe",  who  had 
brought  the  thigh-bone  of  Sainte  Flavia  from  Rome  to 
Nevers  for  his  bishop,  Monsieur  Dufetre,  and  who 
thereby  challenged  the  scorn  and  ridicule  of  the  pam- 
phleteer : 

"In  the  congregation  of  Monsieur  Gaume,"  writes 
Tillier,  "  a  schism  has  broken  out  on  my  account ;  for 
a  portion  of  the  virgins  declare  that,  struck  by  the 
avenging  thigh-bone  of  Sainte  Flavia,  I  am  about  to 
die ;  but  another,  more  impatient  portion  claim  that  I 
have  already  died,  that  I  am  as  dead  as  a  rat,  and  even 
buried.  Very  well,  then,  I  am  about  to  die ;  that  is 
possible.  It  is  indeed  long  since  the  years  of  youth, 
these  beautiful  birds  of  passage  whom  winter  drives 
away,  have  flown  from  me.  I  have  travelled  over  half 
of  my  course.  I  am  on  the  other  slope  of  life,  where 
the  valleys  stretch  before  us  in  sombre  twilight,  where 
the  trees  have  retained  hardly  a  few  leaves,  and 
where  the  gray  sky  is  thick  with  snow-flakes.  When 
one  has  once  reached  the  downward  course,  the  de- 
scent is  more  like  rolling  than  walking.  But  that  I 
am  dead  I  deny.  Besides,  my  death  is  -a  ready-made 
miracle  for  Sainte  Flavia;  I  may  die  to-day,  or  to- 
morrow, or  in  ten  years  —  nothing  will  prevent  the 


308  APPENDIX. 

superannuated  virgins  of  Monsieur  Gaume  from  claim- 
ing that  their  saint  killed  me. 

"  I  confess  I  was  frightened  by  this  threatening  an- 
nouncement of  my  impending  doom ;  but  Claudius,  my 
venerable  patron  saint,  appeared  before  me  one  night 
recently : 

"  '  Do  not  fear,  my  dear  Claude,'  he  said  to  me,  '  the 
Lord  Christ  has  read  your  pamphlets,  and  he  liked 
them  very  much,  and  if  he  does  not  become  a  sub- 
scriber to  them,  it  is  only  because  he  would  not  like  to 
offend  M.  Dufetre.  You  are  the  defender  of  religion, 
and  its  enemies  are  those  Jesuits  who  shape  and  util- 
ize it  to  their  own  advantage  as  if  it  were  their  prop- 
erty. You  are  coughing,  I  know,  I  hear  up  yonder 
how  you  cough,  and,  without  meaning  to  flatter  you,  I 
can  say  that  you  cough  pretty  well.  But  don't  take 
any  of  that  medicine,  that's  poor  stuff ;  go  early  to  bed, 
rise  late,  and  drink  the  wholesome  country  air ;  I  do 
not  claim  that  this  diet  will  cure  you.  I  am  not  one  of 
those  empirical  saints  who  pursue  the  art  of  healing  as 
if  they  had  to  live  by  it.  But  if  this  Flavia  touches 
your  chest,  she  shall  learn  to  know  a  Claude :  with  a 
single  stroke  of  my  crosier  I  will  break  that  thigh-bone 
of  hers  into  a  thousand  pieces.' 

"  '  Dear  patron,'  I  answered  him,  '  is  your  crosier  per- 
haps loaded  with  lead  ?  But  in  any  case,  you  cannot 
mean  to  wield  it  against  a  woman  ?  ' 

"  *  A  woman,'  he  answered  me,  '  a  woman  !  Is  mal- 
ice invulnerable,  then,  as  soon  as  it  is  coupled  with 
weakness?  'And  you  yourself,  Claude,  although  you 
are  a  whole-souled  Claude,  do  you  hesitate  to  kill  the 
fly  that  has  stung  you  for  the  simple  reason  that  you 
are  stronger  than  it  ?  " 


APPENDIX.  309 

The  warmth  of  his  feeling,  the  tenderness  of  his 
heart,  how  powerfully  they  burst  forth  once  more  in 
these  last  lines  which  he  wrote  on  his  death-bed : 

"  My  mother  stands  beside  my  invalid's  chair ;  she  is 
deaf,  poor  woman,  and  my  voice  is  weak;  we  can 
hardly  make  ourselves  understood.  But  she  is  here, 
she  envelopes  me  in  her  glances,  she  seeks  to  read  in 
my  eyes  what  I  want,  she  can  divine  by  the  smallest 
fold  on  my  forehead  what  I  dislike.  She  has  left  the 
other  half  of  her  family,  the  half  that  can  spare  her ; 
she  wishes  to  have  her  part  of  my  death-struggle.  The 
same  care  that  once  watched  over  my  childhood  she 
now  bestows  on  my  early  old  age.  One  son  she  has 
already  seen  dying,  and  now  she  comes  to  lend  me  also 
the  support  of  her  arm  and  to  lead  me  gently  down  the 
slope  of  life.  .  .  . 

"  Poor  mother !  with  what  heavy  hand  did  God 
measure  out  the  tears  that  he  stored  beneath  your 
lids  ?  Or  is  God  unjust  to  the  mothers  ?  A  son  can 
only  once  bury  his  mother ;  but  a  mother,  how  many 
sons  may  she  mourn !  Am  I  at  least  the  last  child  she 
must  bury  ?  Will  a  last  one  remain  to  close  her  eyes 
and  lay  her  dear  body  beside  our  bones?  Or  must 
it  be  her  lot  to  take  the  key  of  our  poor  house  with 
her?  .  .  . 

"Ah!  how  much  less  am  I  to  be  commiserated  than 
she  !  .  .  .  I  die  a  few  days  before  my  schoolmates,  but  I 
die  at  that  age  when  youth  is  nearing  its  end  and  life 
is  but  a  long  decay.  Unimpaired  I  return  to  God  the 
gifts  with  which  he  intrusted  me ;  free  my  thought 
still  soars  through  space,  time  could  not  bleach  the 
feathers  of  his  wings.  ...  I  am  like  the  tree  that  is  cut 


310  APPENDIX. 

down  and  still  bears  fruit  on  the  old  trunk  amidst  the 
young  shoots  that  come  after.  Pale,  beautiful  autumn ! 
this  year  thou  hast  not  seen  me  on  thy  paths  that  are 
fringed  with  fading  flowers  f  thy  mild  sun,  thy  spicy  air 
have  refreshed  me  only  through  my  window ;  but  we 
depart  together !  With  the  last  leaf  of  the  poplar,  with 
the  last  flower  of  the  meadow,  with  the  last  song  of  the 
birds  I  wish  to  die,  aye,  with  all  that  is  beautiful  in  the 
space  of  the  year :  may  the  first  breath  of  frost  call  me 
away !  Happy  he  who  dies  young  and  need  not  grow 
old!" 

This  farewell  requires  no  rhymes  to  be  a  poem; 
poetry  has  not  created  anything  more  touching  and 
more  genuine.  Rarely  do  we  find  a  combination  of  so 
much  lyrical  charm  and  so  much  polemical  power  and 
logical  rigor  as  in  the  writings  of  Tillier.  But  his  works 
reflect  his  character.  He  was  one  of  those  beautiful 
natures  of  native  nobility,  who  rise  out  of  the  depth  of 
society,  and  who,  in  spite  of  temptation  and  misery, 
pass  unsullied  through  the  filth  of  life.  Wholly  of  the 
third  estate  and  of  the  people,  he  loved  liberty  passion- 
ately and  battled  for  her  heroically  on  the  remote  out- 
post that  accident  had  intrusted  to  him.  Regardless  of 
personal  matters,  he  lived  for  his  idea  and  found  his 
reward  in  himself.  Unselfishness  was  his  virtue  and 
human  dignity  his  religion. 

After  I  had  learned  to  know  this  knightly  figure  by 
his  writings,  I  determined  to  revive  his  memory  among 
my  countrymen.  I  visited  his  sunken  grave,  held  out 
my  hand  to  his  pensive  shade,  and  spoke  to  him: 
"  Here  you  rest  now,  quietly  and  forsaken,  under  your 
modest  sod,  brave  champion !  And  six  feet  of  earth  is 


APPENDIX.  311 

all  that  death  gave  you  after  life  denied  you  so  much. 
I,  too,  am  an  exiled  disciple  of  liberty,  travelling  along 
your  paths  and  come  for  devotion  to  your  grave. 
Slumber  on  in  your  ungrateful  earth,  disinherited  one ! 
I,  the  refugee,  will  erect  a  monument  to  you  in  my 
home.  I  will  translate  your  '  Benjamin,'  who  resembles 
you  in  noble  pride  and  true  love  of  man,  into  a  lan- 
guage that  appeals  to  forty  millions  of  hearts;  and 
your  portrait,  you  faithful  counsellor  of  the  oppressed, 
I  will  exhibit  it  among  my  countrymen,  for  you  are  the 
true  man  of  the  people  whom  all  nations  recognize  as 
their  own. — Look  you,  our  enemies  consider  us  as  poor 
in  wealth  and  as  weak  in  power ;  but  we  are  rich  in 
the  spirit  and  strong  of  will,  and  we  are  their  masters 
by  the  might  of  wisdom.  The  fools !  They  do  not 
know  that  above  them  an  eternal  law  holds  sway  and 
that  its  mighty  spirit  is  leading  the  world  gently,  but 
irresistibly,  towards  our  goal:  the  liberation  of  the 
human  race,  the  reign  of  justice.  They  do  not  see  the 
foot-prints  of  his  progress,  they  do  not  hear  the  verdicts 
of  his  tribunal ;  but  to  us,  his  messengers,  he  appears  in 
all  his  glory,  saying :  'Do  not  complain!  I  am  with 
you ;  and  instead  of  the  things  of  time  I  promise  you 
the  things  of  eternity.  See  these  poor,  they  pride 
themselves  on  their  spoils  and  —  nothing  is  their  in- 
heritance ;  for  their  deed  is  without  seed  and  their 
bequest  without  heirs,  they  are  in  the  service  of  decay. 
But  you  are  the  workers  of  the  resurrection,  your  work 
grows  from  generation  to  generation  and  has  eternal 
life.' — Sleep  on,  then,  with  your  honors,  your  poor 
grave  will  outlive  their  marble  vaults.  Let  them  glis- 
ten and  glitter,  let  them  mock  and  deride,  the  unjust : 


312  APPENDIX. 

their  soul  will  vanish  without  a  trace,  like  the  stalk 
that  bears  no  fruit ;  but  you,  chosen  one,  you  will  live 
among  the  living.  Your  brain  sleeps  and  rests,  but 
your  thought  is  awake  and  working.  You  have  dug 
your  furrow  in  the  field  of  time ;  many  a  harvest  will 
come  and  go,  and  none  will  erase  it.  Thousands  of 
spirits  will  receive  you,  thousands  of  hearts  will  bless 
you!" 


SIXTY-SECOND  THOUSAND. 


BY  COUNT  LEO  TOLSTOI. 


PRESS  NOTICES. 

The  Critic,  New  York. — "  One  hardly  dares  speak  of  the  '  Kreutzer  Sonata.'  It  is 
like  a  moral  earthquake,  shattering  the  very  foundations  on  which  society  is  built,  and 
causing  the  ground  to  crumble  beneath  our  feet.  So  daring  a  treatment  of  a  daring 
theme  has  never  before  been  attempted  in  literature.  Nettling  has  ever  been  given  to 
the  world  quite  like  this  tremendous  object-lesson  projected  on  the  canvas  in  colossal 
proportions,  with  every  shadow  deepened,  every  line  magnified  and  brought  into  appall- 
ing relief. " 

Kate  Field's  Washington. — "  Why  is  '  The  Kreutzer  Sonata '  prohibited  ?  I  am  at 
a  loss  to  imagine,  unless  it  be  that  Tolstoi  has  told  the  truth  —  very  brutally  —  about  a 

to  tell  the  truth,  of  course  Tolstoi 


very  brutal  condition  of  things.     If  it  be  a  crime 
should  be  suppressed.     But  is  it  ?  " 


Buffalo  Courier. — "  That  singular  code  of  morals  which  too  many  men  hold,  that 
they  may  indulge  in  shameful  license,  and  still  call  themselves  by  the  '  grand  old  name 
of  gentleman,'  while  their  sisters  and  sweethearts  mast  be  utterly  pure  in  their  lives  and 
conduct,  receives  a  stunning  rebuke  in  this  work." 

Boston  Transcript. — "  It  is  probably  one  of  the  most  moral  books  ever  written.  .  .  . 
As  children  sit  spellbound,  frozen  to  the  spot,  though  desiring  to  fly,  through  the  reading 
of  the  '  Ancient  Mariner,'  so  this  generation  of  ours,  which  has  strong  moral  impulses, 
but  feels,  nevertheless,  a  weight  as  of  death  about  its  neck,  must  listen  to  this  grim  story 
of  the  great  Russian  novelist  and  prose  poet,  whether  it  likes  it  or  not." 

St.  Louis  Republic. — "  The  peculiarity  and  audacity  of  Tolstoi'  is  that  he  has  taken 
this  subject  out  of  its  usual  dress  of  secret  or  semi-medical  advice  'for  private  circula- 
tion only,'  and  clothed  it  in  the  garb  of  fiction,  intended  for  universal  reading." 


e  edition  published  by  BENJ.  R.  TUCKER  is  the  only  complete 
and  correct  edition  published  in  America. 


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A  RIVAL  OF  "LES  MISERABLES." 

THE  RflG-PlCKER  OF  PflRIS 

BY  FELIX    PYAT. 

TRANSLATED    FROM   THE    FRENCH    BY 

BENJ.  R.  TUCKER. 

This  masterpiece  of  fiction  was  originally  written  as  a  play,  and  as 
such  achieved  the  greatest  success  known  to  the  French  stage.  Re- 
cently, and  just  before  his  death,  the  author  elaborated  his  play  into  a 
novel,  in  which  form  it  presents  a  complete  panorama  of  the  Paris  of  the 
present  century. 

What  Great  Critics  think  of  it. 

Heinrich  Heine. — "  The  passion  of  Shakspere  and  the  reason  of  Moliere." 

A  lexandre  Dumas  (to  the  author).— "  You  have  killed  Fre'de'ric  Lemaitre  for  us. 
After  his  Father  Jean  in  'The  Rag-picker  of  Paris,'  he  can  create  no  other  role." 

Victoria,  Queen  of  England  (to  the  Actor  Lemaitre,  after  seeing  him  play  in  the 
piece). — "  Is  there,  then,  such  misery  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  ?  " 

Frederic  Lemaitre  (in  reply). — "  It  is  the  Ireland  of  Paris." 

Theophile  Gautier. — "  The  work  of  a  Titan. " 

Sainte-Beuve. — "The  paragon  of  the  democratic-republican  school." 

Victor  Hugo. — "A  fortunate  drama,  come  late  enough  to  represent  the  whole 
people."  

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Wfiat's  To  Be  Done? 

A  NIHILISTIC  ROMANCE. 

By  N.  G.  TCHERNYCHEWSKY. 

WITH    A    PORTRAIT    OF     THE    AUTHOR. 


WRITTEN    IN    PRISON. 


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the  youth  of  Russia  in  their  growth  into  Nihilism." 

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Russian  pictures  that  compare  with  it." 


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from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


hilpard  Avettte,  Lg 
Return  nils  mat 


1993 


APR  1 1 1994! 


UCLA-College  Library 


A     001  147259 


